62 Months: The Journey Continues

One of the problems that I had when I came home was that I was assigned physical therapy exercises to do. I was 14 years old wearing a huge plaster cast, once the cast came off the trouble really began. I had to use a small dumbbell on the edge of the couch or chair with my arm on the end. I had to flex and extend the arm hundred times a day.

I had no interest in doing anything like this. My mother was pulling her hair out because every day it was the same routine. Normally, it takes less time to do what you're supposed to do, then it does to spend the time arguing about not doing it. I, of course, chose to argue day in and day out. I did the bare minimum, and to this day I pay the price for that because my arm is crooked. My friends even have a nickname for my arm: they call it "The Crook".

It was summertime. Another treat resulting from the elbow injury was the lengthy scar that ran down the back of my arm. I had something called keloid. The scar was long, raised and bright red. And it was raised and thick. So in addition to my arm being a crooked mess, I had a huge centipede taking up residence.

Countless times I was asked what I did to my arm. Eventually, I began coming up with clever answers. Shark attack, ( that one got a lot of attention ), chain saw accident, knife fight. Hey, to me it was fun watching people's reactions to the tall tales.

No one said I was a good kid.