I remember when I was 4 ½ years old, I tripped and fell into a glass bowl of potato chips I was carrying. My head was bleeding and my parents couldn't be sure if I had glass in my eyes. My brothers say I wanted to sit up and have them take me to the mirror so “I could see me bleed.” Also, when the doctor came I need stitches and they wanted to take me to the hospital. I guess when they said hospital I went crazy. I refused to go. He said he could do the stitches on the table but it would hurt and I’d have to be still. I imagine he thought that would frighten me enough to go to the hospital. My brothers said I laid down on the table and didn't move. When he stitched up my head I didn't cry or move a muscle. My brother told me what he remembers most about that night was that I was never out of control. He thought my dad was going to pass out, my mother was crying, there was chaos everywhere but I was totally calm and in control. He can’t remember a time when I was little when I was ever out of control. He told me that whenever I got hurt I would hardly ever cry and maintain absolute control over the pain. They thought I was brave. Somehow, I don’t think that’s what it was. A few months after that I fell again and I was so frightened by what my dad would think I remember hiding behind his chair. Did I think, really think that if I wasn't perfect that he’d send me away?
**To my reader from Elgin, Illinois.......my birth record says my mother's name was Mary Martin. If that name means something to you please feel free to email me.