My accident.
My dad, being an ex-squaddie with a screw loose, has always had a certain devil-may-care attitude towards health and safety. This has not only affected his own life - numerous accidents, altercations, extreme sports, and so on - but also those of his children. Basically, my sister and myself were always encouraged, from an early age, to take part in dangerous activities - and on some occasions forced to - in the belief that we shouldn't miss out on potential experiences that we might not have the chance to do again. In a way this was a good thing, as it's given me real confidence to take on challenges that do scare off saner people, but it's also resulted in more than a few dodgy experiences.

A case in point (and, thankfully, relevant to the QOTW) was when I was being taught to ride a bike. I had happily been riding one with training wheels for a couple of weeks and was more than content with my progress. However, things changed with my 5th birthday, when I was presented with a brand-new, shiny BMX - without training wheels. I was also given full pads and a helmet, and informed that I had better learn to ride the bike quick as I had been entered in a race in 3 weeks' time.

I did learn, but my performance in the race was, unsurprisingly, below par, given that the track had bloody huge jumps and I could barely get up a kerb at that point. Extra tuition was clearly in order, so my Dad decided that we would ride to his work to pick up his wages. I was fully kitted up in helmet, elbow and knee pads, and off we went.

His work was about two miles away, up a big hill, and we went on the roads all the way, which I'd never done before. We got there without relative incident, although I was absolutely petrified the whole way. Trouble arrived on the way back, going down the hill. I was told to put my left arm out as we would be turning that way shortly. I did so but, thinking I was going too fast, pressed the right brake.

The front brake.

It's a steep hill.

Cue me catapaulting over the handlebars and landing in the middle of the road. I, in pain, started crying, and then started screaming when a passing motorbike drove over my head, ripping off most of my face.

Dad dragged me to the side of the road and checked that I was still alive. Surprisingly enough, I was conscious (helmets do work after all), and so have a vividly clear memory of watching my dad stroll over to the motorcyclist (who was groggily getting to his feet) and kicking the living shit out of him for running over his son. Bit harsh really - five-year olds lying in the middle of the road aren't a conventional safety hazard. The carnage was only stopped when some passing firemen saw what was going on and intervened.

My mum's main criticism about the incident is centred on the motorcyclist, who didn't even come and visit me in hospital. I reckon I wouldn't have bothered either...

I recovered fine, by the way. Kids heal pretty good - didn't even get any scars.
(silencer, Fri 13 Oct 2006, 21:58, Reply)