I think I've cracked open my head 3-4 times in my life as a child. My mom used to always tell me about the time when my brother tried to carry me around outside this hair salon. Apparently, he dropped me and I hit my head causing it to bleed. When it was my turn to get a haircut at this hair salon, the hair stylist suddenly gasped "oh he's bleeding!" She showed my mom.. and sure enough, my head was bleeding. I'm sure my brother got in some trouble for it... but I was too young to remember.

Another incident occurred while my mom was driving my brother and I around. Both of us sat in the back. Again, I dont remember this incident, but my mom tells me that my brother and I were fighting which made her look back and try to break us up. Next thing you know, my mom struck another vehicle and somehow, some way, I fell out of the car and hit my head.

The last and only time I remember cracking my head open... I was maybe 4 or 5 years old. It was a weekend afternoon at my neighbor's home, a floor above our home. My cousin, Celine, my brother, my neighbor's two daughters and myself were playing some sort of pretend game. For some reason, I was designated as the "bad guy." It was four older kids against me and I didnt like it one bit. It infuriated me so I ran downstairs to my home and found two empty tennis ball canisters and decided to use them as weapons against the evil doers. My mom and dad were on my bed with our new baby cousin, Gladys. My mom beckoned me to join them to take a nap, but I refused and ran back upstairs with my newly found weapons.

I jumped into the living room at my neighbor's home, ready to do battle and prove to everyone that I dont deserve to be the villain and teamed up on. Projectiles were thrown, sounds of plastic swords against my metal tennis ball container rang loudly. I fought off my foes from the left, right, from behind me... then I looked up.

My cousin Celine was on top of the sofa with a plastic toy shield in her hand. She flung the shield at me and it struck my head. I felt a slight prick of pain on my head, but I fought on bravely, thinking to myself that every hero will have to face this same kind of challenge. But... to my surprise, everyone just stopped. Everyone gathered in front of me, staring with fear and awe at my head. I asked "What? Whats going on? what're you looking at?"

Someone blurted out "who did it?" I answered "did what? did what?? what's going on?"

Finally... someone pointed to my head and said "your head..."

I touched my head and then looked at my hand.... I immediately started crying. The sight of my little hand covered with fresh blood was too overwhelming for a child my age. I felt it on my forehead... I didnt know what to do... I was covered in blood and all I could do was cry.

My neighbors' parents came out to see what the commotion was about and realized I was hurt and bleeding badly. My cousin, Celine, ran up to them and declared that she did not cause me to bleed. Everyone else then joined in with the "I didnt do it! It wasn't me!" At our age... who would want to take responsibility for almost killing someone? Ok... I was dying... but it sure looked like it.

My neighbor's father held a towel on my head for the bleeding and called my parents and off we went to the hospital. I still remember this day.. that crazy commotion so clearly....

My mom and dad rushed out of the house with whatever they had on and brought me to the nearest doctor. My mom was wearing her pajamas... basically just a shirt and shorts. My dad, however... he was only in his boxer shorts and nothing else. We first stopped at this small clinic... My dad placed me on top of a few parked motorcycles while my mom checked if the doctor was in. Unfortunately, they were closed... I dont know why, but I was suddenly overcome with fear.... for one of the only times I can remember as a child, I told my dad I was afraid. I needed reassurance that everything will be OK. I needed reassurance that I was not going to die from this injury. I needed some comfort..... Seeing how panic-stricken my mom and dad were... I was more scared than I cared to admit at the time.

Finally, my mom and dad brought me to another hospital... the doctor gave me a few stitches... and then I was fine.

I waited in the lobby area with my dad as my mom paid for the visit. My dad... still in his boxers... sat next to me... I never thanked them for what happened... and I never appologized to my parents for the state of panic and worry I put them in. As silly and laughable as it may have been to see my dad running around on the streets of Taiwan in his boxer shorts carrying me in his arms... I've never felt more blessed to have parents like them.

I didn't understand the love a parent can have for their children back then... I couldn't really process that as a child. But looking back now... I am so blessed to have witnessed the raw emotions and love a parent has for their children. The road they're willing to take... the choices they're willing to make... the sacrafices... the time... the money.. the blood, the tears... There is just simply no love like the love a parent has for their kids.
- posted by Jack @ 1:13 PM