I have a memory of what could easily have been my premature death, had things only gone a little differently…

Image for post
Image for post

One day, while playing with my toys in the front yard of our house, I hit upon the splendid notion that it would be very interesting to see how far it was possible to run with my eyes closed.

Image for post
Image for post

This was at around the age that “running” was a new and wonderful super power that had only been recently discovered (between two and three years old, I’m thinking). I wanted to see what the new limits were, you understand. Realising immediately that our garden was not big enough to do the experiment justice, I shut my eyes tightly, went out our front gate.. ..and ran as fast as I could down the pavement that paralleled our street.

Image for post
Image for post

Thankfully, rather than running out into the road and being hit by a passing car, I instead ran full tilt into a concrete telephone pole, copping a fearsome smack to the forehead from a big rusty metal bolt that was embedded in its surface.

Image for post
Image for post

Immediately, blood sprayed out of the gash in my head, while maniacal screams poured out of the quivering hole under my nose.

Image for post
Image for post

A house painter, working across the street, had the good fortune to witness this spectacle in its entirety as he sat on a scaffold, eating a sandwich and having his cup of tea. It amuses me now to wonder what this man made of the sight of a small boy coming out of his house for the express purpose of running headlong into a telephone pole and almost knocking himself unconscious.

Image for post
Image for post

In any case, it was this kindly man who picked me up (still screaming blue murder) and carried me home from my experiment, drenched in my own gore and humiliation. It was precisely at the moment of bloody impact that I had realised that running with my eyes closed was a supremely stupid idea. Oh, if only that epiphany could have struck me before the telephone pole…

Image for post
Image for post

This was driven home to me in our kitchen, as I was obliged to listen to the kindly house-painter explain to Mum in great detail what he had just seen me do to myself. While Mum cleaned my blood away they both asked me, over and over again, just what the bloody hell had I been playing at?

Image for post
Image for post

I never told them. The blow to the head had knocked enough sense into me that day to realise that it was better not to reveal the extent of my own stupidity, and say what my original plan had been…

Image for post
Image for post

I have the scar, physical not emotional (or maybe it’s both, come to think of it) from that episode to this very day. It’s right in the centre of my forehead, where the third eye would be if I were more enlightened.

Image for post
Image for post

Originally published on my FALLOUT blog, January 2007.

Written by

The uppercuts keep me from falling down..

Get the Medium app

A button that says 'Download on the App Store', and if clicked it will lead you to the iOS App store
A button that says 'Get it on, Google Play', and if clicked it will lead you to the Google Play store