from the horse's mouth, yeah
You wanna know how it happened? Sure, you see a scar like this and think, "There's gotta be a story behind that." I remember it like it was yesterday. November 10, 2009, it was. You don't easily forget fifty pounds of human flesh flying at your face, no sir. Never had a blow like it before nor since.
A child, you see, my own child, she climbs up my frame just like Peter Shoening on the Vinson Massif. Up and up she came, grunting and humming under her breath, finally reaching her goal and resting comfortably on my hip. I say "comfortably" when I speak from her view, but not from mine, far from it. I took matters into my own hands at that point, I did, and the child, too. Lifted her high into the air, and with her own legs, she launched herself higher still. Must have come away at least five inches from by body, or my shoes are full of soup.
She laughed as she rose, and why not? It might have been the most liberating moment of her short life. A jump like that and I'd laugh, too, if I had laughter left in me. It was in the descent that we saw violence and tragedy approaching. Gravity has no mercy in her heart and won't take a moment to soften the impact of two faces as they meet. I'd heard the phrase "bone-jarring" in the past, but never really experienced it until that day. When we two separated, I put my hand to my chin and found to my shock that my skin had split. I'm not as young as I once was, my skin doesn't stretch like it used to, and my daughter found her own elasticity her savior.
I never held it against her, and she's forgiven me in her own way, but that fateful flight is recorded now forever on my face. Hardly hurts at all anymore, but I'll carry this scar 'til I die, half an inch long, may lightning strike me if I lie. You heard your fill? Let's see the back of you now.
A child, you see, my own child, she climbs up my frame just like Peter Shoening on the Vinson Massif. Up and up she came, grunting and humming under her breath, finally reaching her goal and resting comfortably on my hip. I say "comfortably" when I speak from her view, but not from mine, far from it. I took matters into my own hands at that point, I did, and the child, too. Lifted her high into the air, and with her own legs, she launched herself higher still. Must have come away at least five inches from by body, or my shoes are full of soup.
She laughed as she rose, and why not? It might have been the most liberating moment of her short life. A jump like that and I'd laugh, too, if I had laughter left in me. It was in the descent that we saw violence and tragedy approaching. Gravity has no mercy in her heart and won't take a moment to soften the impact of two faces as they meet. I'd heard the phrase "bone-jarring" in the past, but never really experienced it until that day. When we two separated, I put my hand to my chin and found to my shock that my skin had split. I'm not as young as I once was, my skin doesn't stretch like it used to, and my daughter found her own elasticity her savior.
I never held it against her, and she's forgiven me in her own way, but that fateful flight is recorded now forever on my face. Hardly hurts at all anymore, but I'll carry this scar 'til I die, half an inch long, may lightning strike me if I lie. You heard your fill? Let's see the back of you now.