Walk It Off

When I was 12, I was climbing on the field-box roof at one of my Dad’s softball games when I slipped and fell backward. I broke my fall by putting my right arm behind me. This broke my fall and my arm.

I screamed bloody murder, and my Dad got in from right field just as somebody’s Mom pulled my arm from behind me. You should know that my Dad believes you can walk off any injury. He was already forming the “Wal….” with his lips when he looked at my arm. His face drained and I knew it wasn’t one of my normal falls.

So I looked down at my arm, my Z-shaped arm, and started screaming, “Oh, crap! OH, CRAP! I broke my fucking arm!”

Dad swallowed, “ You’re fine. You’re fine… don’t say ‘fucking’”.