Formative Years
The “formative years” are the
preschool years of childhood, and most personality traits and personal
character are in place by age six. The
formative years of my life as a child were very exciting, but also extremely
dangerous. I was an active kid who took
risks, they consisted of multiple visits to the ER. I ended up in the ER on several
occasions. The formative years of my
life were unpredictable and usually ended up in a lot of pain and blood, but
those trials defined who I am today.
It all started when I was 4 years
old, I had one of best friends named Drew over to my house. We were outside playing with golf clubs and
my dad came outside and told us, “Guys put the golf clubs away I don’t want
anyone to get hurt.” Since we were
mischievous kids, we waited until he was gone and then we proceeded to get out
the golf clubs. We thought we were so
cool just because we were disobeying my dad and doing the opposite of what he
said. After playing around with the golf
clubs for a while, Drew had the wonderful idea to swing the golf club when I
was turned around. Before I knew what
was going on I heard a loud, “WHACK” then I blacked out and fell to the ground.
I woke up in the backseat of my
Dad’s car with a rag drenched in blood laying on my forehead. I tried to pull the bloodstained rag off of
my head than my mom pushed it back on my head and started crying. I had no idea what had happened and then
there was an excruciating pain coming beneath the rag. Then I proceeded to take the rag off of my
head and push my mom’s hand away at the same time, I saw a giant red gash right
next to my eyeball. I was in so much
pain and shock that I passed out again…
This time when I woke up, I was
laying on a firm bed with a bunch of strange men dressed in white surrounded
around me. My eyes came into contact
with my Mom’s and she said, “Trey it’s going to be okay, Drew hit you with a
golf club in the side of the head on accident and the doctors are going to have
to put a couple stitches in your head to heal your boo-boo.” I had no idea what stitches were until the
doctors injected a needle into me to numb the stitching, and then I saw a
doctor with a needle and a string attached to it and started to viscously
scream. The doctor was trying to stitch
up the cut, but I was moving around and screaming so much that he didn’t want
to accidently poke my eye. He had to get
four other doctors along with the straight jacket to fully restrain me. There I was laying there helpless, I saw the
needle pierce my skin and passed out again.
When I woke up for the final time I
was sitting up on the hospital bed with my Mom and Dad sitting on the foot of
the bed holding my hands. I was still in
schock of what had just recently happened, so I got up and walked to the mirror
and saw 16 stitches that were just mere millimeters away from my eye. I saw the stitches and started to cry and
asked my mom what it was, and she said, “They are going to heal your cut Trey,
in one week they will dissolve and you’ll have a scar to show all of your friends!” I was so excited when she said I get to show
my friends my scar, because I thought it would make me look tough. When I went back to school I showed all of
friends my new scar and they were all so jealous, because they thought I looked
really tough.
Even though I was accident prone
during my formative years, I grew stronger with each injury. I had stitches three times, staples once,
broke my nose twice, broke my arm, broke two toes, and broke three ribs. I viewed every injury as a “battle scar”
which represented a tough kid. As a
teenager I still take risks and feel that my formative years gave me character
and bravery. Just this year I broke my
foot, my hand and two toes. I guess some
things never do change.
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