Left: Lou displaying her swimming trophiesMiddle: DJ running X-Country for SHS
Lower: KJ (third from front-"Squints" Jensen)
None of RJ: no evidence, no crime
Ah, I see we are jumping to Springfield..methinks to avoid any more embarrassing takes, but we will retreat down the road.
Well, where to begin, but SPORTS! All of us were involved in a number
of sport teams in Springfield. Lou was a terrific swimmer and diver. DJ a decent to average swimmer, but magnificent distance runner ( see I told you fighting wasps had its plus side) and baseball, RJ continued as a swimming phenom and women's water polo star. Me, well, too short for the local popular sport, basketball. I ran track for the Jr. H.S team- distance, but my proud moments were in baseball. That brings me to our family sporting motto, " shake it off or you are gonna get IT." There it was again, the IT word. But, again, I digress.
One summer Friday evening Lou and I and some local kids were running around the house- probably playing tag. In sprinting over the concrete tiled patio, I slipped and fell on my right hand. My brain said a well-rehearsed line:"Shake it off...."
The next day, Saturday, my hand was throbbing, but hey, gotta ball game this evening . As I was considered in most circles a whining kid ( mostly due to losing rubber band and acorn fights), my complaints received a cool reception around the house. Think Randy in Christmas Story. He had me pegged.
That eveni
ng, my hand was swollen like a softball. At the game, noticing my injury, the manager decided to take me away from shortstop (I am left handed) and put me at first base where all I really had to do was catch the ball. What he forgot was that I was left handed and my right hand, yes, the injured one, was my glove hand. Well, a lot of guys got on base that first inning. Every hard throw to first hit my glove, ricocheted up my arm to my scalp, where hairs jumped wildly under my hat.
I was taken out of the game. Everyone thought it was a bad sprain, so "shake it off."
Monday morning, I strolled into class at Hay-Edwards sixth grade homeroom. We had to do something that required both hands, maybe move desks, but memory fades at this point as the pain to the scalp hit again. The teacher came over to take me out of the fetal position and realized how badly my hand was swollen. I was given a pass to the school nurse. She immediately could see it was a broken hand. Instead of the expected, "shake it off" and get back to class, it was go back to class, I am calling your mother to come pick you up and take you to a doctor. Well, we only really went to doctors or hospitals if we were in near death situations. Otherwise good old home remedies worked just fine.
Well, where to begin, but SPORTS! All of us were involved in a number
of sport teams in Springfield. Lou was a terrific swimmer and diver. DJ a decent to average swimmer, but magnificent distance runner ( see I told you fighting wasps had its plus side) and baseball, RJ continued as a swimming phenom and women's water polo star. Me, well, too short for the local popular sport, basketball. I ran track for the Jr. H.S team- distance, but my proud moments were in baseball. That brings me to our family sporting motto, " shake it off or you are gonna get IT." There it was again, the IT word. But, again, I digress.One summer Friday evening Lou and I and some local kids were running around the house- probably playing tag. In sprinting over the concrete tiled patio, I slipped and fell on my right hand. My brain said a well-rehearsed line:"Shake it off...."
The next day, Saturday, my hand was throbbing, but hey, gotta ball game this evening . As I was considered in most circles a whining kid ( mostly due to losing rubber band and acorn fights), my complaints received a cool reception around the house. Think Randy in Christmas Story. He had me pegged.
That eveni
ng, my hand was swollen like a softball. At the game, noticing my injury, the manager decided to take me away from shortstop (I am left handed) and put me at first base where all I really had to do was catch the ball. What he forgot was that I was left handed and my right hand, yes, the injured one, was my glove hand. Well, a lot of guys got on base that first inning. Every hard throw to first hit my glove, ricocheted up my arm to my scalp, where hairs jumped wildly under my hat.I was taken out of the game. Everyone thought it was a bad sprain, so "shake it off."
Monday morning, I strolled into class at Hay-Edwards sixth grade homeroom. We had to do something that required both hands, maybe move desks, but memory fades at this point as the pain to the scalp hit again. The teacher came over to take me out of the fetal position and realized how badly my hand was swollen. I was given a pass to the school nurse. She immediately could see it was a broken hand. Instead of the expected, "shake it off" and get back to class, it was go back to class, I am calling your mother to come pick you up and take you to a doctor. Well, we only really went to doctors or hospitals if we were in near death situations. Otherwise good old home remedies worked just fine.
For a long time mom and dad had a hard time talking about the incident, especially since now I was now wearing a cast on my right hand and half way up the arm.
I just told them to "shake it off."
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