Come along with me as I take a walk down memory lane..
I was bleeding! The blood spurted like a fountain. It might have been pretty cool if I wasn’t so scared!
My brother hustled down the back stairs as I ran screaming up them. I plowed into him and deposited a bloody splotch in the middle of his white sweatshirt…
I remember the scene vividly. My family had relocated to Rochester, MN, the home of the Mayo Clinic. I was in 4th grade, about 9 years old.
On this day, my brother and I toiled in the garage carving up big cardboard boxes, the awesome remnants from this most recent move. Did I mention that we were using steak knives?
Whoops!
As I sawed away, the knife slipped and gouged my palm. My brother had gone into the house so I was alone at the moment. Terrified, I raced out of the garage and up the back stairs to find my mom.
What would she do?
A steak knife punctured my hand
Entering the kitchen, I yelled for her. She hurried in, turned the faucet on telling me to hold my hand under the cold water, and stripped my clothes off. What?
One such work of art
Hold on a minute… back to those utterly inviting cardboard boxes.
I had had plenty of experience with them. Between kindergarten and 6th grade alone, I called 3 different states my home, learned at 9 different schools, and moved 9 times. So, I had beheld my fair share of big moving boxes.
Other than exploring our new house, those boxes were the best part of moving for my brother and me. They beckoned to us. They promised the thrill of creation and adventure. Anything we dreamed up we fabricated with those boxes. We slit them apart, taped them together, molded them into our visions.
- Our own individual houses
- Castles
- Forts
⇐ Some of our concoctions ⇒
- Tunnels
- Pens (for stuffed animals)
- Pens (for little sisters)
We spent many hours forming our masterpieces. We worked on the inside and outside, cut out doors and windows, depicted curtains with the magic of crayons.
And once, we even had a lamp inside our abode.
Mysterious basement…
The location itself where transformation occurred conjured up intrigue.
Our schemes came to life under the stairs in the little-known and yet-to-be-investigated basement.
Heaped with boxes, some full, some empty. Dark secret corners and doors unexplored. Odd odds-and-ends discarded here and there.
That basement became our laboratory.
Down there, we ruled our own secret world. No one bothered us. Free from chores, homework, and pesky little sisters.
We discovered what amazing things crayons do when used on a hot bulb. That light bulb looked the coolest!
Our childhood occupation
We didn’t stare at electronics or play with something automated. We used our brains to create masterpieces (in our estimation). We created memories between brother and sister, too.
Transforming big moving boxes into works of art was our secret happy childhood occupation.
But…back to being stripped down. My mom put clean clothes on me. I couldn’t go to the emergency room in dirty, bloody clothes for heaven’s sake!
What happened to my hand?
Recalling this memory brought a smile to my face, even the “spurting fountain of blood” incident. I ended up with 2 stitches (my first and only ones) and a small scar. But, worth it for the memories and that awesome splotch on my brother’s white sweatshirt!! 😯
Do you have an awesome childhood memory to share? I truly would love to hear it.
Leave me a comment. 😉
In the words of Tigger, ttfn (ta ta for now).
Blessings and blooms,
Pam
Author: Pam
Glad you’re here!
Seems like Rick wanted to be an architect from the get go!? Love childhood memories, they are close to my heart!
Hey Jana! Yes, he was always creative. Crazy childhood memories are fun. 🙂
Very good writing Pam! It does bring back good memories….
Thanks for reading this story, Rick. We had a lot of fun when we were kids! 🙂
Pesky little sisters huh? Lol