One day I decided to throw a stick. I’ve mentioned my superior basketball and running skills before, well, baseball (or stick throwing) was no different! I was about 8 years old, and was standing in our back yard about 15 feet away from my younger brother (the limit of my throwing arm). I wanted to throw the stick right where he was, and nowhere else would do (it’s a boy thing). So I told him to move over to the side about 20 feet, which he did. Have you ever seen a little kid learning to throw a Frisbee, and how when they let go at the wrong time it flies in the complete wrong direction? Well, the same thing applies to sticks! Needless to say, my brother got hit in the head and began crying and running around to the side of the house with his hand to his forehead.
Apparently, as the story goes, my mom heard someone outside saying “Don’t tell mom! Don’t tell mom!”, at which point she opened the door and said “Don’t tell mom WHAT?” (Moms have good ears!) That was when my brother lowered his hand from his forehead to reveal a pool of blood in his hand. (I swear I didn’t know he was bleeding before!) A few stitches later all was well, and I had learned a great lesson that has guided me through the rest of my life: I could totally have taken on Goliath without even trying!