when she pulled me down from the monkey bars and I broke my shoulder, it wasn’t the worst hurt that was done to me that day. Like any kid, I cried a bit and ran to the nurse’s office. But upon arrival, I was told that it was just a bruise, here’s an ice pack, take it and go back to class. Now as a kid who by this time has had 15 surgeries, I was well aware that this wasn’t just a bruise. However, any confidence I had was long beaten out of me, so I sucked it up, accepted the ice pack and sat through class, nursing my left shoulder and willing myself to not cry. And then, as if life itself was out to get me that day, it was time to stand up and walk the distance to the music room. Now, normally music class would be the best option of all the classes we could have had. Better music than art, or, heaven forbid, gym. However, that month was some sort of cultural awareness thing, so what better way to teach kids about culture than play random games while playing ethnic sounding music in the background. I swear that game was invented just so I would feel the maximum amount of pain possible. The game was to take a bean bag from the person on your left with your right hand and pass it to the person on your right with your left hand. I think the theory was that it would foster community and fun in a cheap and safe setting. Well, it fostered something. Well, let’s just say that I think everyone in the school lost a little hearing that day. My music teacher sent me to the nurse’s office again. I was given another ice pack. Finally, the day was ending. I ride the bus home. That did not seem like a good plan at all. I mean, if I couldn’t fork over a stupid bean bag without screaming bloody murder, the bumpy bus ride was not going to be fun for anyone involved. However, when I went to the office, they said they were sure I could handle it. Well, even at eight I was manipulative. The best way for a blond haired, blue eyed girl to get her way? Cry. Loudly. Believe me, they’ll give you the phone to call your mom. To say that Mom was extraordinarily pissed would be a gross understatement. She immediately saw what two nurses had failed to see: my shoulder was broken. While I’m sure kids fake injuries to get out of class, it still blows my mind as to how a nurse could pass off an eight-year-old’s crying as nothing, as an overreaction. Kids aren’t the smartest people in the world, they can’t be, but they sure do know when it hurts. So one trip to the urgent care later, I had some Tylenol and ice cream for dinner. My mom put in my favorite movie, Aladdin, and my sister looked on in envy. I was in pain, sure. But yet, I look on that night as one of my favorite times with my mom and sister, the first time we had a girls’ night.
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Maybe they shouldn’t try to prevent injury in school.