Bad Decisions: we all make them. If you do not, I don’t know if I will even believe you’re human. You may think, Oh, bad Decisions are what you learn from! And yes, you are correct.  This is a prime example of a bad decision which definitely had its consequences.

       It all started on a long, gusty afternoon. It was in fact the day before school, and I was excited! My mom had a phenomenal idea to go to the playground that surrounded my upcoming school. I, only being about five and a half, was up for the question she had asked and nodded my head. My school had two playgrounds, the metal and the wooden. When we finally arrived at the school after a long horrendous walk, my eye was caught by the wooden one. Many thoughts were rushing through my head; it felt like it was going to erupt like a volcano. I was walking around the playground, not even knowing where to begin. It was then that the wannabe grade school Romeo in his light up Spiderman sneakers saw me. I could see him hawking me like a cat and mouse. There was no escape. I was captured. Until this stubby, concrete edged slide beaconed me like a lighthouse. 

       Of course, when something catches my eye I go for it; the only thoughts in my head at that moment were, I NEED to go down that slide, I need to escape Romeo. I did exactly that; I did not want to go through the narrow wooden stairs that lead you to the slides, so instead I ignored them. Racefully I started ascending up the slide, completely overlooking my mom’s commands to, “ Use the stairs!” and “Do not do that!” I do not know what made her think I was going to listen; I had those Spiderman clad shoes hot on my trail. I was about midway up the metal slide, and I was not going back. Why would I? 

       BANG.  My head glided past the metal as smooth as a marker glides on a whiteboard. It sliced my skin like a hot knife through butter. At the moment, it didn’t hurt, most likely since I could not react. I ran, heart pounding, body shaking, to my mom; she was already halfway to me after she heard a bang followed by silence. My hand was on my head as I felt liquid drip down slowly. She pleaded for me to remove my hand; stunned, I did hesitantly. I could hear her breath catch, and then she turned as pale as a ghost. I was extremely puzzled by her absurd reaction, but she gripped onto my hand, and we hustled to her purse as blood was dripping onto my shirt. She grabbed her phone and dialed my dad’s number. I was not able to comprehend what she was saying. The key words seemed to be, towels, water, bandages, ice, antibiotic ointment. 

       My dad came racing into the parking lot. He had the supplies in his hand; my mom snatched them out of his hands and pressed the cold towel onto my head. I felt electric pulses of agony rush into my gash through my veins. I wanted to scream; instead, the crowd of my playground made me forbear it. The parents stared weirdly while my mom and dad were in a hurry to put me in the car. I could smell the burning rubber as my dad peeled out of the parking lot like Mario Andretti in an Indy 500. My head was throbbing; I could feel my eyes well with hot tears. I refused to let them fall. No little boy was going to get the satisfaction of me crying. 

       We drove for what seemed like hours, and when we arrived at the emergency room, we were greeted by a nurse who had a concerned look slapped across her face. She gave me a fluffy, little cotton ball with magical, or so I thought, ointment that immediately halted any pain emitted from my playground war wound. After what seemed like hours ended, we were finally guided back to the triage area where things quickly went from bad to worse. The doctor pulled a fishing hook of a needle out of her torture bag and directed her minions to swaddle me like a baby. Once they had me wrapped snugly in their cocoon of doom, she shoved a needle into my gash; it burned like pallets in a bonfire. The pain was unbearable. I could not stop the rivers of tears from flowing down my cheeks. Perhaps in the biggest act of treason my mother held my head still as the doctor expertly guided the needle through my layers of skin, closing any evidence of my cunning escape from Romeo. When she finished the doctor proudly exclaimed that it only took 40 stitches to close up my wound. ONLY 40?! Hands were shaking, head was throbbing, my jaw dropped.

       As she expertly removed her rubber gloves, smiling, her nurse silently stepped forward to gently and skillfully apply antibiotic ointment. She listed off instructions like an auctioneer. “Keep it clean with soap and water. Watch for infection.” After they told us, we were free to go, so we walked out of the E.R and made our way through the doors. I could hear her calling to me, “Stay off the slides!” As those words were spinning around my head, feelings of regret instantly flooded my mind. 

       I knew my mom had been right. The lesson I learned was a valuable one. I let the thrill of my escape from Romeo overpower my mom’s efforts to keep me safe. At the moment I did not think anything could happen. I was terribly mistaken. I am glad I learned consequences like that at such a young age, because without them I am sure something terrible would end up happening again. Remember to think before you do something. Think about the outcome, and think about what it does for you before you proceed. 

-Teagan D.