Storytime: Breaking Bones

When I was in third grade, I wanted nothing more than to break a bone. I didn't care if it was a foot, leg, wrist, or arm--I just wanted an injury that would earn me a beautiful cast and lots of sympathy. I suspect this fascination started when a fellow third-grader broke her leg in a car accident. She swung through the halls on crutches with a friend on each side, her leg covered in a giant purple cast, and everything about the experience seemed so exciting and glamorous.

Finally I decided to do something about it.

There was a small hole in my front yard, maybe four inches wide, that was covered by grass and was impossible to see unless you were looking for it. I ran across the yard at least fifty times, hoping to accidentally fall in the hole and twist my ankle. I even ran across the yard in ROLLER SKATES, but no luck. Then I moved on to more advanced efforts. I started doing tricks on my roller skates, jumping up and down while on wheels in the hope that I would land wrong and get a cast for my trouble. I even jumped OFF MY BIKE (while it was parked) while wearing roller skates, but no luck.

When that didn't work out, I moved on to the front steps of the junior high. I jumped off the cement steps two at a time, once again while wearing my skates, but aside from a few wobbles and one exciting moment when I thought I hurt my wrist, I just got really good at jumping off the steps and rolling smoothly away. It turns out that it's really difficult to override your body's natural instinct to avoid injury.

But I had an ace in my pocket: my dad. He was a family doctor in town, and he happened to have entire cupboards full of cast supplies in his office. I pestered him for months to give me a cast just for the heck of it, but of course he told me that was ridiculous over and over and over again.

Finally one day he cracked and agreed to give me a small cast on my arm. By this point I was already well into fourth grade and had been dreaming of this moment for a looooooong time. I picked sky blue and planned to leave my cast on for a week. When I went to bed that night with my casted arm propped up on a pillow, there was not a happier girl in the world.

And then I went to school.

As I stepped through the front doorway of Oakwood Elementary, I was struck by the terrible realization that people were going to ask me how I had broken my arm. I couldn't lie, because everyone would find out soon enough that I had lied and that would be pretty embarrassing. I also couldn't tell the truth, because everyone would think I was silly for having a fake cast and that would be pretty embarrassing. So I did the only logical thing: I hid my cast inside my jacket for the entire day. It was a long seven hours.

That night my dad removed the cast. I had missed all the fame, glory, and signatures, but I felt free to show my arms in public once again, and for nine-year-old me, that suddenly felt just as glamorous.