Since I won’t be online much tomorrow, Throwback Thursday, and I am too low-tech to solve the “schedule post” feature on FB, I posted this one tonight. Figured since I posted it on FB, I may as well post it here to share some laughs while we wait for Wyoming to post the tag results.
In this pic I’m almost five years old. Two weeks before school pictures the biggest kid in third grade; well actually the biggest kid in grades K through 6th, ran me over with his brand new bicycle.
Boyer Lievesay was only three years older than me, but was already about 5' 6" and pushing 150. He came over the hill, full bore, right into a pile of us kids who were stationed in the middle of the dirt road, slingshotting birds off the telephone line. Unsuspecting and looking the other direction, by the time we heard Boyer hollering to get out of his way, it was much too late for evasive action.
I slowly regained consciousness, spitting sand, blood, and parts of teeth as the other kids were doing all they could to extract me from the debris pile. Boyer was sitting along the dirt bank, head in his hands, sobbing aloud – he thought he had killed me. My closest brush with death in my short life.
Remember the old solid rubber bike tires from the late 60's? Well, 150 pounds of humanity, traveling at 15 mph, will result in a lot of hide taken from the head of most five-year olds. Proof positive.
This photo was two weeks later, so some of the skin had grown back. My nose no longer looked like it had been stuck in a belt sander. My left temple bruise had yellowed, then almost faded by this time; not even much scab remained. The knot above my right eye had subsided such that it no longer had a side profile, except for the small remnants of the once-thick scab.
Being too poor to drive the 20 miles to the doctor in Littlefork, my treatment was a St. Johns Baby Aspirin, big gobs of Merucochrome (for you people under 40, that was the known cure for any/everything; Google it), and massive amounts of gauze wrapped around my head, borrowed from Gayle Ferguson and giving me the look of an injured Civil War drummer boy. Lots of Mother's love and attention, along with homemade Kool-Aid popsicles, helped me recover.
Boyer felt bad. Getting even was never an option, 'cause he was always the biggest, toughest, and most soft-hearted kid (if you want to call a person of that size a "kid") in the county. After that, he protected me from the school yard bullies; not even the bullies messed with Boyer’s flock.
My mom always cautioned me to look for cars when crossing the road. Hell with that; from that day on, when I crossed a road, I was on the lookout for Boyer Lievesay.
Happy Thursday! Good luck in your Wyoming tag draws.
In this pic I’m almost five years old. Two weeks before school pictures the biggest kid in third grade; well actually the biggest kid in grades K through 6th, ran me over with his brand new bicycle.
Boyer Lievesay was only three years older than me, but was already about 5' 6" and pushing 150. He came over the hill, full bore, right into a pile of us kids who were stationed in the middle of the dirt road, slingshotting birds off the telephone line. Unsuspecting and looking the other direction, by the time we heard Boyer hollering to get out of his way, it was much too late for evasive action.
I slowly regained consciousness, spitting sand, blood, and parts of teeth as the other kids were doing all they could to extract me from the debris pile. Boyer was sitting along the dirt bank, head in his hands, sobbing aloud – he thought he had killed me. My closest brush with death in my short life.
Remember the old solid rubber bike tires from the late 60's? Well, 150 pounds of humanity, traveling at 15 mph, will result in a lot of hide taken from the head of most five-year olds. Proof positive.
This photo was two weeks later, so some of the skin had grown back. My nose no longer looked like it had been stuck in a belt sander. My left temple bruise had yellowed, then almost faded by this time; not even much scab remained. The knot above my right eye had subsided such that it no longer had a side profile, except for the small remnants of the once-thick scab.
Being too poor to drive the 20 miles to the doctor in Littlefork, my treatment was a St. Johns Baby Aspirin, big gobs of Merucochrome (for you people under 40, that was the known cure for any/everything; Google it), and massive amounts of gauze wrapped around my head, borrowed from Gayle Ferguson and giving me the look of an injured Civil War drummer boy. Lots of Mother's love and attention, along with homemade Kool-Aid popsicles, helped me recover.
Boyer felt bad. Getting even was never an option, 'cause he was always the biggest, toughest, and most soft-hearted kid (if you want to call a person of that size a "kid") in the county. After that, he protected me from the school yard bullies; not even the bullies messed with Boyer’s flock.
My mom always cautioned me to look for cars when crossing the road. Hell with that; from that day on, when I crossed a road, I was on the lookout for Boyer Lievesay.
Happy Thursday! Good luck in your Wyoming tag draws.
