The day I fractured my left arm (Part One of Three)

I miss the normal shape of my left arm. I broke my arm twice. I first fractured it when I was ten. I was a rookie varsity member of the baseball team at that time. How did it happen? Before our practice in the field, My teammates and I started to play around doing some acrobatic stunts using the fence. How do I describe it? The fence has a empty space that serves as a passage with only the horizontal bar on the top. The bar is more or less five feet above the ground. So what we kids did is to grip on the bar and let ourselves seem “roll” our bodies in the air like an acrobat. The stunt was not actually hard for a playful and adventurous kids like me. We did the “rolls” in turns. I attempted it twice or up to four times. But when one playmate pushed me from behind, the fun became an accident.

I don’t know what that kid was thinking but it’s either he’s just playing a sick prank on me or he was helping me roll faster with a push. But it was a sudden and forceful push that made me lost my grip on the bar and fall to the ground. I really felt the strong impact of the fall but I did not feel any pain maybe because of the adrenalin rush. I did not realize that I had a fracture until I saw my arm twisted after the fall. So I started panicking and I started to cry.

To be continued…

Suggested by Daily Post: Writing Prompt (Day Four): “Write about a loss: something (or someone) that was part of your life, and isn’t any more.”

The Classroom

I’ve been away for two weeks and I’ve not been online that much since I left our home. So getting some inspiration with my two weeks teaching exposure here in a remote community, this is a short story about my experience earlier this day.

There’s the big boy again.
Restrain and gain composure, I tell myself.
Attention grabbing, classroom noise… why does he always start this?
Is there something wrong with him or it’s just his boyish nature?

Since it’s my last day here, I’ll smile outside even when I’m really boiling inside.
Before we leave, there’s a program to formally end our stay in this remote school.
After the singing and dancing, the boy approached me in his usual self.
Just like what I do with the rest of the kids, I piggyback him.
Now, the tots are crying but the boy is smiling while hugging me.
Later, I noticed that he became silent and I felt from my back that my shirt getting wet. I couldn’t believe he’s crying because I’m leaving now.

This boy is not that tough. Maybe I am not too. I was touched.


Photo prompt via Madison Woods.