I slashed the inside of my thigh open with a pocket knife once. It must have missed the artery by half an inch, maybe, although I didn't know it at the time. I had, at this point, been hurt so many times that I closed the knife, put down the piece of wood I had been whittling on, and wandered into the house to ask my mom what to do.
She said "oh my God! Your new pants!"
And then we duct taped my leg back together because we didn't have insurance, and we didn't want to sit in the ER waiting room for the rest of the day.
The worst I ever cut myself was I cut the side of both middle fingers all the way down to the bone in exactly the same spot 1 week apart.
I was trying to do some really precise cutting and didn't have the right kind of knife for that so was holding a regular one like a pencil. And apparently didn't learn my lesson the first time.
I still have it and it's still that sharp. I didn't feel it at all either time.
I don't remember doing this, cause I was 3 at the time. I wandered into the kitchen, where my mother was doing some cooking prep, and my father was doing some paperwork of some sort. I said "Mom, I think I hurt myself." She said, "Oh no, you're fine." In her defence, prior to this if I ever so much as gotten a tiny scratch, I would be screaming my head off. My father looked up and said, "No Anita, he's hemorrhaging!" She turned around to find that I was bleeding from multiple gashes in all five fingers on my right hand.
Apparently, I had gone into my parents room, which I knew I shouldn't be in. Gotten into their closet, which I knew was even more off limits. Pulled my mother's sewing kit out, which I knew was super duper off limits!!! Found her pizza cutter razorblade thing that is used to cut cloth, and proceeded to disassemble the thing, managing to slice all five fingers on my right hand three times trying not to drop it. I've no idea what I was gonna do with the thing. Apparently I had to get multiple stitches in each finger.
I'm the 3rd of 5, though it was 3.5 at the time.
Those things are no joke. I have a sick scar on one of my fingers for trying to cut one of those wrapping paper tubes with one.
...Yeah, in hindsight trying to cut a round, rolley thing thing with another extremely sharp round, rolley thing was pretty retarded.
This post has some real "drank from the hose" energy
The sweetest water.
My mother would have hung up the phone and then beat the shit out of me on top of whatever trauma I've already gone through 😂
My grandmother never bothered to ask us about any of it. She'd just wordlessly break out the peroxide, slap a bandaid on it, and return to whatever she was doing around the house.
I could and did wander into the house with blood pouring from the side of my head or with the front of my shirt soaked in it, and all she did was admonish me once for ruining my clothes. Very 1940s parenting.
I thank god for this. Because if I had told her where any of our war wounds had come from, that would have been a beating for sure.
😂 I guess we turned out alright regardless.
I don't know why but my mom just couldn't multitask on the phone at all. I don't have kids but my gf has one, and I try to always be attentive to her. I remember being really frustrated about this as a kid.
IMHO (not a parent), children need to learn that the world doesn’t revolve around them. If they’re not hurt, they can wait a minute.
If parents are not there for them when they ask, who in this world trully is going to be? You're right the world doesnt revolve around them, but parents should.
Why do I imagine this mother holding the phone with one hand and a dry martini in the other?
It was a Schlitz.
I don't remember that, but I remember hitting a gate while on my bike and hurting my manhood
I had a bike fall in my nuts Shit suuucked like bruises and everything
Plus there was a uncomfortable amount of attention on my nuts from my mom and also the doctor we went to
I was actually lucky my mom was there cause I don't think I could have gotten back to the house without her. Don't remember what happened after that though.
I climbed a recently pruned tree in swim trunks. Then fell and snagged on the way down and inverted.
One time, I rode off a driveway down a wooded hill, because I wasn't used to hand brakes on my cousin's bike.
I read this as in the kichen was all covered in blood. Really confuswd me for a moment.
My mom yelled at me not to bleed on her new carpet. Gotta love being the youngest child.
Funny because that's about what my own Mom would say too. We'd come in with snake bits and split lips from falling off our bikes, and she'd be angry that she has to dirty another washcloth. I don't have kids but now that I'm grown, I kind of get that.
I worked as a volunteer (and this has nothing to do with the topic, I just remembered) at a local aviary, and we'd often have to take split baby rabbits out to the raptors at feeding time. It was fine usually, because usually the rabbits are frozen and so not that gross, but sometimes they'd thaw out in your hands and you'd come back covered in blood and gore. (which is why you have hide the thing from the birds's sight when you enter certain enclosures).
I'm not sure I ever grew out of that "what the hell am I covered in this time" phase.
Gosh, that was a wild ride to read... Thanks, I think?
Yeah I know it was a bit TMI.....but I couldn't resist. I'm a boomer - get me started and you'll wish you had duct tape around to shut me up with.
Image Transcription: Twitter Post
jo diggity, @WhaJoTalkinBout
me, as a child: *walks into the kitches covered in my own blood holding a rabbit I fought from a hawk*
my mom, on the phone: *mouthing* I'm on the phone
