All children have accidents. I just think my family had more than their fair share. Being accident-prone seems to be a family trait, something I have handed down to my own son.
Accidents sound very negative; it might be better to say they are ‘lucky escapes’ as illustrated in most of my anecdotes.
While I was still in my cot, the family went out on a picnic. For some apparent reason, a bee’s nest was disturbed and a swarm of African bees attacked everyone, especially my mother who suffered multiple stings. After all the commotion, they checked up on me. I was completely unscathed and grinning – another ‘lucky escape’.
One day, my parents were invited to a shooting party and families made a day of it. The men were slightly inebriated and went off to shoot birds. My father wasn’t bothered about aiming at the game and rather drunkenly took pot-shots at nothing in particular. One shot narrowly missed the children; that was the last time he ever picked up a gun.
My siblings bought bows and arrows from the local African children; the arrows had wooden points as opposed to the poison-tipped barbed ones displayed on the living room wall.
When they were playing ‘Cowboys & Indians’, Trevor managed to shoot an arrow into Toni’s eye. It turned out to be more like King Harold at the ‘Battle of Hastings’. This came as a bit of a shock to my parents as my sister walked into their bedroom, with an arrow protruding from her eye. Luckily for her, the arrow went to one side of her eyeball, making it a ‘nArrow’ escape.
This didn’t stop us playing William Tell; not having any apples, a tin can was placed on my head. I only had the misfortune of having the tin fall off and scar my face a little.
While playing, Toni was being chased by a friend. She went to hide behind a door and as she shut it, managed to leave her little finger in its path. The tip of her finger was severed, this prompted another visit to the hospital where it was sewn back on, even though slightly crooked.