Dad is alone with the kids!

A long time ago, I think I was about 7 or 8, my Mom went to a Relief Society Enrichment Night and left us children alone with Dad. We were having a grand old time, eating popcorn for dinner and jumping on the trampoline in the backyard. We even convinced Dad to join us on the Trampoline. I believe that Andrew was inside doing dishes but I have no memory where everyone else was.

As Dad and I were jumping on the trampoline he started to see if he could interrupt my bounce. Well, needless to say, it worked and if I remember right I was bounced off the trampoline and my arm got caught in the bar. I started screaming and crying. Dad flew off the trampoline and called for Andrew to bring a blanket to wrap my arm in.

Dad then rushed me to the Instacare or something close to that since I don't remember an actual E.R. This was a time before cell phones so Mom had no idea that I was hurt yet. While waiting for the Doctor to see me a nurse came out to write down what happened. They asked my Dad and I the same questions but I, being the emotional wreck that I was, told the nurse flat out that "My Dad broke my arm". Dad looked at me with a little panic in his eyes and clarified that I fell of the trampoline and it broke. After she finished asking the questions they took me back for an x-ray. My arm was indeed broken.

They didn't put my cast on until I think the next day. They wrapped my arm with a splint and sent me home. When we got home, Mom wasn't home yet so Dad let me sleep in the guest bedroom. I think I remember Mom coming home and her looking in on me and then talking to Dad to find out what happened. I know that she was there when the doctor set my arm and put the cast on it. But to this day I still say that my Dad broke my arm.

Tonsils

Over the years I have taught many Family History classes at church. It was always odd to me that I would be called upon to do such a thing. I really have no great fondness for genealogy. But, this call keeps coming my way.

Rather than teach about the IGI, pedigree charts, and family group sheets, I focused more on personal histories. On the first day of the course, I ask each class member to share their first memory. I caution them that the truth of that memory is less important that the memory itself. I say this because one’s first memory is usually when one is too young to understand what is really going on. At least, that is how it is with me.

My first memory has me sitting on a conveyor belt of some sort and I am wearing almost nothing. On that belt is a needle that comes around over and over again and pokes me on the bottom. An odd memory, to say the least.