One Bad Day

I remember nothing about this day before the moment my middle finger was smashed under the falling toilet seat.
After that all is clear.
My finger nail is hanging half off and blood is going everywhere. I am crying and my parents are calling someone and I hear that I could have so many germs that my finger would need to be cut off.
I am in the 2nd grade.
A trip to the doctor’s office and a long wait. I am pleading with my mom and dad not to cut off my finger as I need all of them to play baseball.
It hurts.
Now I am with a man dressed in white that tells me that my finger would not be cut off. Just the fingernail would need to be removed.
I ask “how you gonna do that?”
I am told that he will grab hold of it with a tool and give a firm tug, then it will be over and my fingernail will grow back. He wants me to be brave and not cry out as it will “hurt pretty bad”.
I agree.
I watch as he gets the tool, something that looks like pliers. Grabs the hanging nail and then, yanks away. It hurts badly. I am quiet as I can be. The man says “son of a [b]itch”.
The nail is still attached.
He looks at me and without a word, yanks again. The fingernail is free and I scream.
Now he is talking to my parents and a woman in white is putting some liquid on my finger.
Red liquid... I ask is this iodine? I know of this stuff, Granny uses it on all the scratches and it burns.
“Yes” says the lady. Then I hear “be quiet and just take it. This is your own fault and I need to wrap up this finger so you won’t get any more germs”.
What are germs any way and way can’t I see them?
Now we are traveling back to school as I need to get to class and my mom needs to get to work.
I am reminded that “everyone is late because of what you have done and I need to be a good boy for a while to get through this”. I just nod a yes and hope my finger will stop hurting soon.
I am at school now and soon it will be lunch... I get to eat then its recess to play for a while. All my friends and older kids are asking me what happened?
I explain in full glory the ordeal that I have just gone through. Making sure that the pliers, the yanking, cutting off my finger, the germs, all the bloody details are told.
Back in class and the teacher has asked me to her desk to find out what has happened to my finger.
All the class is trying to explain to her and she yells at them to get to work and be quiet.
It does not work. It’s a feeding frenzy of kid drama and I am in the center.
My finger is not hurting and a smile is upon my face. Finally some good is coming my way.
The teacher gains control and slowly she gives our work assignments to us. They include writing out spelling words and practicing our printing skills. I cannot write as my finger is bandaged but the teacher requires me to try anyway. She tells me that I will “take the work home if not finished”.
I play around and wave my injured hand as much as I can.
Another recess, another round of show and tell. I am almost a hero now.
This time in class the teacher has all the kids sitting on the floor as we are going to play a game called duck-duck-goose”. A circle of sitting kids with one walking around touching each one on the head saying “Duck-Duck-Duck” then “Goose” when they choose. Next, is a chase around the circle with the goose needing to touch the runner before they get back to the open sitting area.
Plenty of fun for children with energy to burn.
I sit in an area that allows my bandaged finger to be exposed to all. The first kid to start is a little blond girl that I wish was my playmate. I have a crush.
She goes around the circle touching each kid. Duck, Duck, Duck ….Goose. Bam the chase is on. round they run .cheers are herd …then she steps on my finger.
I scream out loud “Son of a [b]itch”.
Next without missing a beat the teacher has me by the ear and pulling me to the office, I am in so much trouble and all the kids are looking at me and pointing like I just started a fire or something.
It’s a fast fall from hero to bad boy.
I am sitting in the principal’s office as the teacher tells on me. She never liked me any way. She never likes any kids. The principal tell me that I must never use words like that again and I will need a swat on the bottom then stay in his office till time to go home. Also I will need to have my mom or dad sign this note and bring it back tomorrow. All the punishment is given.
I am at home now; it is quickly becoming my bed time. I have been scolded again about proper words for kids to use; I am struggling to write my spelling words. My brother is getting a bath.
No one has asked my about my finger.
For the first time ever, I tell myself “this is not a good day”
Stranglehold Stranglehold
41-45, M
Jan 23, 2013