The Cynic’s Cache

While thinking about my childhood, and writing about it, a lot of memories have come up.  Not all of them are bad, of course, some of them even very good.  Interestingly enough, some of my fondest memories have involved some of the bloodiest injuries I had had picked up.

There were at least three times that I wrecked a bike and scraped up an arm pretty badly, once landing in gravel and sliding about twenty feet after riding full-tilt down an alley.  Another time I wrecked a bike and rolled down a steep hill.  I would sometimes come home with scrapes and bruises after having those funny child play fights with neighborhood boys.  You know the type…you kick, you punch, you pretend to be Ninja Turtles, you go home best friends.  You laugh and carry on and stop in the off chance that somebody actually gets more than a superficial wound.

I got hit in the face with a baseball, usually accidentally, more times than I can count.  I walked in the woods barefoot fairly often, sometimes limping home and digging something pointy out of my foot.  Once, I stepped on a rusty nail that punched through even the bottom of my shoe.  I would limp home, nursing various injuries, after playing tackle football with no pads.  I broke an arm roller stating once.

There were even times where neighborhood kids would throw sand in each others eyes, bash each other with sticks, or deliberately give each other bruises to look tougher.  We would put together makeshift ramps to jump our bikes with and see who could do the coolest bike trick, 99% of the time without helmets.

Actually, that last part I was pretty terrible at.  Bike stunts never were my thing.

Anyway…here I am, an adult, with all of my original parts.  Other than a bit of skin here and there, I never lost anything growing up, no matter how dangerous some might like to think my childhood was.  In fact, I think that I am better off having been injured as a child, as it taught me a few things.

The most obvious one is how to handle pain and, more importantly, what pain is safe to ignore and what is not.  A minor, superficial cut can be shrugged off.  Sure, clean it out, make sure it clots, but there is nothing to worry about.  Slap a bandage and some neosporin over it if you think it might need it.  Sore muscles you just slap some ice on and avoid using for a few days.  That joint that is swelling and hurts like fire you show to mom.  You might have broken something.

But, no matter what happens, you tough out the pain so you can think clearly.

I also learned a fair amount of first aid the “unsafe” way: outside of a sterile classroom.  I knew how to dress and clean wounds before I had two digits in my age.  There were plenty of times I would get scraped up, head for the house, patch things up, and then go right back outside to play more.

I even knew how to make splints for broken bones and get somebody with a broken leg home without hurting it more.  Those skills never got used, but I knew them.

Along the way, I also learned to stomach the sight of blood.  I ultimately saw more of my own than anybody else’s, but that even has its benefits.

Perhaps the most important thing I learned is caution.  There was a period where I was so horribly overconfident that it would ultimately bite me in the ass.  The incident where I wrecked my bike into gravel was a wonderful example.  With a head full of “Damn, I’m awesome,” I rode way too fast on what was, ultimately, treacherous terrain.

I was riding through the same alley the next day, of course, but having learned something: make sure that what you are doing isn’t incredibly stupid.  Caution is a good thing, you tend to learn, as it leads to less pain.

Now, I ask you, when is it better to learn a bit of caution: when you are on a bike, wreck it, and get scraped up a bit, or when you are behind the wheel of a car, wreck it, and die horribly?  Is it better to know first aid and have no experience, or learn how to stop the bleeding by actually stopping it a few times?

Who would you rather have show up when you’ve been seriously injured: somebody that will panic at the sight of blood, or somebody that never even flinches at the sight of it and just gets to work?