October 31, 2013

Halloween Horror, 70s Style

I don't have a good Halloween story to tell, or at least a recent one. So I'll have to take you back a decade or two. Or three. I'm not certain of the exact year, but it was probably in the late 70s when I was around eight years old.

My brother and I were in my room one night playing in the dark with a tiny, plastic glow-in-the-dark skeleton. The thing was probably only about two inches long, and the glowiness didn't last very long. So we constantly had to turn on a light to "re-charge" the skeleton. Then we'd turn out the light, and one of us would throw the skeleton across the room. At that point it was an all out, fight-to-the-death, mad dash-style scramble to see who could get the skeleton first.

When my brother threw the skeleton onto my bed, I thought it would be a heroic opportunity to valiantly jump halfway across the room onto the bed to get to it first. Tragically, I misjudged the distance in the dark and came up short.

Instead of coming in for a soft landing on the bed, my head hit a metal bracket that was supporting the box spring, resulting in a gash on my forehead above my right eyebrow. I grabbed my forehead with my hand and ran across the house screaming bloody murder. Well, it was bloody.

Now, the humorous interlude to this story. My parents were in the kitchen, and so I ran up to them with my hands out. The first thing my dad saw was my hand covered in blood since I had touched my forehead immediately after impact.

My dad's instincts as a parent (and doctor!) kicked in, so he grabbed my bloody hand and shoved it into the sink under the running water to get a better look at the injury. It wasn't exactly funny at the time. But now I can look back and laugh that the wrong (and uninjured) body part was being tended to first.

If I didn't have parents who were well-connected in the medical industry, this surely would have resulted in a dreaded late-evening trip to the emergency room. But instead, my dad called a doctor friend of his who agreed to meet us in his office after hours and stitch me up.

To this day I still have a scar above my right eyebrow. It doesn't come out very clearly in a picture, hence the arrow:

If you saw me in person you wouldn't even notice the scar unless you knew to look for it. But if anyone asks about it, I can offer a multiple choice quiz:

I got the scar over my eye:

A) In Desert Storm
B) While working on the mean streets of Detroit
C) While playing college intramural softball
D) While playing with a glow-in-the-dark skeleton
E) None of the above

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