When I was about 4 years old, I had my first experience in a long line of experiences getting stitches. I was climbing on the back of the VW bug that my parents owned and fell. I don’t know for sure how it happened, but I cut my leg on the license plate in the process of falling. It was bad. I had to have many stitches. I don’t know why my parents never counted, because I sure would have. The cut ran lengthwise on my inner thigh and was at least two thirds the length. I remember my mom running out to see why I was crying, and then the look on her face. She had to run and get a washcloth to hold my leg closed. I spent at least a week recovering on the couch in the living room. When I needed to go potty, someone would carry me to the bathroom and wait, then carry me back. I was so sad that I was hurt.

Since my Daddy passed on, my Mama has given me quotes from his journals. One of the quotes said. “May 22, 1966, Joy cut her leg real bad when she climbed on the back of the car, a few weeks ago but it is healing. Jo and I had to pack her around everywhere for about a week.”

One thing that made my time on the couch not quite so boring, was that some of our neighbors brought me over some coloring books and crayons, which I totally loved. We lived in a great neighborhood.

Little did I know at the time that I would be getting more stitches as I was doing my best to grow up.