A is for Accident

To jump-start me on writing more regularly on this blog, I’ve joined the April A to Z challenge. Today is the first day, so I’m writing about a topic that starts with A (accidents).

This is a short memory piece that Mom put in one of her notebooks.

“Shortly after my marriage, I took my sister Carol to the doctor to get the cast off her right arm. She had broken it during some games at a wedding shower for me.

On our way home from Madison, Carol was checking our meat ration booklet. She found one that would be expired the next day. I glanced at the ration book and when I looked back, I was on the wrong side of the road.

I slammed on the brakes and the car switched around and we headed down a steep incline. When we stopped, we both jumped out.

The men had trouble pulling the car back up to the road without it tipping over. We were sure scared. I relive that moment every time I go by that stretch of #99.”

Written by Gail Lee Martin June 7, 1999.

I asked my aunt, CJ Garriott, about her broken arm. Here’s her memory of that:

“We were playing ring-a-round-the-rosy; everybody (children?) in a circle. Whoever was it would race around outside of the circle, and randomly drop a hanky behind someone. That person would grab the hanky and take off around the circle herself. It was a dewy evening, and as I was rounding the circle, slipped on the wetness, and down I went. I distinctly remember looking down at another elbow between the regular one and my wrist, which was now at my chin. Didn’t hit anything except the ground, no rocks or sticks. Daddy went and got a shingle from the barn, laid my U-shaped arm on it, and headed for the doctor’s office, who was meeting us there. The doctor had daddy hold my shoulder, the doctor took my hand, and pulled quickly. Bones snapped back in place like they’d never left. Had cast for few weeks. Never even had a bump to show for the break in both bones.”

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5 thoughts on “A is for Accident

  1. I enjoyed my visit to your blog. Your recollections are a priceless treasury. Far too often, we fail to maintain our own family histories until, suddenly, through death, it becomes too late and all is lost. I love the ring-around-the-rosey game. Such innocent times. 🙂

    Like

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