One Last Time Won't Hurt

Chapter 2

This first story is actually two stories that both have taught me a very important lesson in a similar way. However, it took me a few more years to learn this lesson and actually benefit from it. Starting with these stories and throughout the rest of the book you might ask yourself why did Rob have to be taught the same lesson so many times before he actually learned it. I don’t actually have the answer to that question so unless you can read into these stories further than I ever have and answer the question of why it may never get answered.

I have two separate scars, which will stand as reminders throughout the rest of my life. I actually believe the purpose of scars is to remind us of our actions so that we won’t continue to commit the same error time after time. I’ll go ahead and start with my knee. If you get a chance to see my right knee and are able to examine it closely you will find an inch long scar with three dots on either side, that I have had the privilege of carrying for about 18 years now.

When I was growing up I always loved to go to Grandma’s house. The drive always felt like an eternity, but it actually was only 45 minutes long. I always had so much fun at my grandma’s house. The majority of the time at Grandma’s house was spent playing as hard as any little boy could with his cousin. Sam has been by my side for most of my life. We are the same age and we even look a lot alike, but that is a story for another time.

Sam and I would do as much as we could in the short visit’s we had together. It was always an adventure together. We were both blessed with very imaginative minds, which transformed any setting into a paradise. Together we could play for hours without fail. During one of the trips to Grandma’s house Sam and I found our selves playing upstairs in his house. If I remember right we were 5 years old at the time. Uncle Ken, Sam’s dad, had been in the middle of a remodeling project. He was remodeling the upstairs bathroom. It just so happened that adjacent to the bathroom was the ceiling of the living room. Ken’s house is a log cabin, with a living room ceiling that stretches to the roof of the house. There is actually a space between the living room ceiling and the actual roof of the house.

Sam and I were both just small enough that we could comfortably climb to the top of the space holding on to some of the electrical wiring of the house. When we got to the top we would slide down. We were having so much fun that Sam’s older sister Katie became aware of our game. She came out of her room and told us nicely to stop and then gave us a warning that one of us would get hurt if we continued. Of course we didn’t heed her nice warning and continued to play.

As we slid down the ceiling we would end up inside the bathroom, which was under construction. I’m not sure how we avoided getting hurt for so long in the first place. As soon as Katie told us to quit our game we decided to do it one more time. Sam went first and then I quickly followed him laughing all the way. As I slid through the doorway into the bathroom my little five-year-old knee caught onto a nail that had been sticking up in the floor and tore open the inch long wound. I don’t remember the pain but I remember walking with blood dripping from my knee into Katie’s room. Being the nice person that she was, she bandaged me up and called my Mom to take me to the doctor.

Sam got to come with me to the doctor, where I received my stitches. I was so interested in the process that the doctor actually let me place one of the stitches. That is probably the reason why my knee later got infected and the scar is so prominent on my knee now 18 years later. Afterwards my mom took us to get some ice cream to ease some to the stress from our traumatic little experience. We just had to slide one more time, and I got my first lesson in listening to those, who know better.

A few years later I found myself in a similar situation only without Sam at my side. In our old house on Eastman Dr. in Soda Springs we had a door right next to the stove that led out into the one car garage. It happened to be a heavy wooden door that opened out into the garage. There were three or four cement steps that led the way to the cold garage floor. The set of stairs created an opportunity for a little bit of fun on a boring afternoon. I figured out that I could hold onto the doorknob and swing in and out of the garage.

While I was enjoying my new found swing, my Mom was busy cooking at the stove adjacent to the door. She let me have my fun for a couple of swings and then told me to stop swinging or else I would get hurt. This warning now seems very similar to Katie’s warning that could have saved my perfect knee. At the time the words didn’t connect how they do now, so I proceeded to disobey my Mom. As soon as my mom stopped talking I was already swinging one more time. I don’t know if Heavenly Father decided my disobedience needed to be rewarded with pain or if I was just clumsy.

As the door swung into the garage my little hands slipped off the doorknob and I fell. The next thing I remember was my little head hitting the corner of one of those cement stairs. Even though I imagine there might be a dent in the cement from that day, the stair still one the fight. I stood up and already had blood dripping from the back of my head. I don’t think my Mom said I told you so, but she probably should have. I remember my Mom holding a rag on my head and my Dad driving me to the hospital.

When we arrived at the Emergency room they made me lay on my stomach on a table. I remember them putting something on my head and then I remember the sharp pain of the needle administering the anesthetic. The next thing I remember is going home with a brand new set of stitches in the back of my head covered with a big gob of glue for protection, while my head healed. That time I didn’t get to put in any of the stitches, which was probably for the best. I do remember the worst part about it was that my Chip and Dale Rescue Rangers sweat shirt that I got earlier at Disneyland was ruined. That was a sad day in the eyes of a seven year old.

Both of these stories taught me the same lesson as I reflected back on them through the years. I needed to learn to listen to people as they warned me of the dangers of my actions. The only problem was that I didn’t learn that lesson fully at that time. I can’t even say that I have learned it completely to this day after all the experiences I have had. I guess you can say I have a hard head.