Nail it.


I did my hook shot and the ball went over the backboard and into the woods.

“Nice shot,” my brother said, and he went into the woods to retrieve the ball. Then I heard him yell: “Help, I slipped and I think a big nail has gone in my knee.”

I couldn’t see him, and I thought he was joking. I let him yell for a while, then I went to help him. He was holding his leg, and when I got close he took his hands away. I saw blood on his jeans and a muddy nail head coming out of his knee. I wanted to throw up.
I turned and ran for our house yelling the whole way, “Mom! Dad! Help!”

Dave was very calm on the ride to the emergency room until mom said she was going to pull it out. Dad told her not to touch it. The doctors got it out and they gave it to Dave as a souvenir. The nail was three inches long and rusty. He made a full recovery.


One thought on “Nail it.

  1. My brother Dave commented:
    “After my ER visit, I came home where infection set in. I got a fever and felt awful. I was admitted to the hospital where they inserted a drainage tube (ouch) to irrigate the puncture and start antibiotics. During my hospital stay my sleep was disturbed by a boy down the hall who was constantly crying, ‘Why me?’ He was my age. Most of his calf was torn off by a tractor/manure spreader when his pants got caught in the PTO gears. It made me feel like I had no right to complain. I think I was discharged after 2 or 3 days.

    Years later, playing football, 10th grade against Frederick High, they had a really good wide receiver. We knew he was good and adjusted our defense accordingly. I noticed that one calf on him was ½ the size of the other and severely scarred. Yep, it was the same kid.”

    And that’s the rest of the story.

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