At age 3, I had gone along to the store with my father to buy a couple of quarts of soda. They came in glass bottles at the time. My mother was at home waiting for the beverages. At about the same moment we arrived in the driveway one of my father’s friends pulled up to talk with him about going night hunting for raccoon. I asked if I could bring in the 2 quart bottles for my mother. I muckled on to them as best I could and started toward the front stone steps on my way toward the kitchen door. The first step was the hardest, in more ways than one.. I tripped and crashed the bottles on the stone surface. As I fell I didn’t know what damage I’d done but I did know it wasn’t going to make anyone happy. I didn’t dare to turn around.  My father had his back to me as he talked to the man in the car and I heard his friend say, “Hey Phil, I think your kid is hurt over there.”  Dad came running over and turned me around to look at me. He went over to the side of the house and pounded his hand on the clap boards to get my mother’s attention. “Dolly! Call the clinic tell the Dr. I’m coming with Ricky.”

He swooped me into the 53 powder blue Buick, and held his hand on my chest while I was lying on the front seat. He was driving extremely fast, you might say flying, I remember him saying “You’ll be OK. You can cry if you want to”.  I knew something must be bad because he wouldn’t tolerate my crying at all. Even as young as I was, I said, “That’s ok Dad, I don’t need to cry”.

When we got to the clinic, Doc. Jackson put me up on a table bed to see my face. I remember there was a lot of bleeding and the pillow case I was using was covered in red. I got stitches and we went home. Dad said my eye was nearly popped out of my head. It seems every photo since then shows the scar over my right eye. Even after that incident, I had 20 – 20 vision till I was in my 40s.

My youth was fraught with accidents and injuries. My mother had to put an extra full page of mishaps in my baby book, most of which required medical attention. I amaze myself by remembering the details of most of these incidents.

The picture shows off my scar over my right eye, and Dad’s deer antlers in the same artistic display. He often included me in his photos.

(c) Rick Wyman