Look before you sit...
The year was 1984 and the 8 year old Gunther was spending an afternoon at a friends house.

Said friend had a train set that was the envy of many an 8 year old boy and young Gunther was lucky enough to have the privilege of exclusive access to it for the afternoon (under the watchful eye of a very protective custodian).

Weary of leg, I sat down in the chair that furnished the corner of the room... or so I thought.

When I came too, my head felt slightly painful and I found myself to be slumped against the wall while the room swayed gently about me.

Not overly concerned by my fall and eager to get back to the train set; I keenly picked myself up and gingerly touched my hand to the back of my head.

It was only when I saw the mass of blood pooled in my tiny hand that I let fly with a volley of demonic screaming that must have alerted the entire village to my plight.

Three stitches (my very first, I proudly announced to the kindly nurse through my sobs) and an ice cream later I was suitably placated and finally ceased my puerile sniffling.

The scar still provides a small but noticeable bald patch as if to compliment the far larger one that adorns the top of my head.
( Moey, Thu 7 Aug 2008, 16:53, Reply)