042524b

I broke a window in a church, my church, when I was about 16. I had a scar on my hand for decades. It has finally faded. The cause was rather banal, actually. We were rehearsing for a play and needed to run an extension cord from the basement, out the window, and in a window upstairs. I volunteered to get this done, but I couldn't get the basement window to open. God knows how long it had been since anyone tried. So, being a teenager, I whacked on the window to jar it loose. Glass is a liquid, not a solid, but only over centuries. not fractions of a second. So the glass didn't have time to flow away from my hand; it broke instead. I went upstairs, clutching my bleeding right hand with my left, and a couple of church ladies helped me get it all bandaged up. I was a cautious kid, and this was actually the worst injury I inflicted on myself before I became an adult. And if you don't count one measly near-fatal traffic accident, I think it is still the worst injury I have suffered. But that's another story, which I might have told at one time or another here.