ACCIDENTS? ~ BLOG HOP #33

 

 

Often times, I think we call certain situations an “accident” when there would have been no “accident” had we not been acting willfully. Also, I am a believer of fate… Que Sera Sera, if you will.

I am sharing some incidents of my childhood that were classified an accident. But were they?

I would say that I remember these accidents like it was yesterday, but the fact is that I can remember something that happened 50 years ago better than I can remember yesterday… However, I am digressing early, so I will get to the story of “accidents” in my childhood.

It was common in my family for other family members to “make themselves at home” as they all put it. Meaning…you can do anything in most of my relative’s homes that you would do in your own home ~ especially if it was Gram’s house. I remember a time when Dad helped himself to some tuna and crackers, since Gram had already opened a can of tuna and then stored in a plastic container in the fridge. When Gram went looking for the cat food, we learned that Dad ate it all… Dad said it was good and tasted like tuna ~ the rest of us gagged…

Since I was accustomed to getting into Gram’s fridge, I once did it at my other Grandma’s house. I was not her favorite grandchild, but this one time, she didn’t say a thing as I helped myself to the last piece of cherry pie. Well, it was rubbery from being in the fridge and not the best tasting pie, but ~ Hey ~ I was hungry. A couple of hours later, I was puking my insides out…

I was about 9 years old when my cousin tried to teach me how to use the brakes on a bicycle. I just didn’t “get it”. Finally, in frustration, he pointed me downhill and gave me a shove. His parting words to me were these… “Now you have to use the brakes or you will hit the barn door.” And, indeed I did…hit the barn door. My Aunt had to take me to see a doctor about my very noticeably swollen left booby. Upon puberty, it was apparent that I would go through life with one booby slightly smaller than the other. I blame my cousin…

I like to think that I learn from my “accidents”, but that is not always the case. When I was about 4, my grandfather went into the cellar by way of the stone steps down from the outside. My Mom told me to stay off the steps because there was some broken glass from a canning jar accident that she needed to pick up. Being the willful child that I most certainly was, I began running up and down the steps. I tripped, fell and cut my finger. It was an interesting cut that created a flap of skin in a V shape. I bear the scar to this day, but I never stopped running on steps until my 60’s. But, I would if I could… Some things I never learned…

When my Mom & Dad got married, Mom wanted a baby right away. I was conceived 2 months after their marriage. I was no accident. My Mom called my 2 sisters “accidents”. Well, Mom may have thought so, but I believe in “what will be will be”. I can’t imagine life without my sisters, nor do I want to. My sisters are no accidents and I wish my Mom had never told them that. Words hurt… And so unnecessary… IMHO…

Were any of these instances really an “accident”? Maybe we should be more careful with what we label an accident?