When I Was 3 Years Old...

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When I was 3 years old, I didn’t live in Mexia, Texas. I used to live in a town called Frost. It was a rinky-dink little town, much smaller than even Mexia, about 45 minutes from Corsicana. I would always come to Mexia to visit my grandparents and my aunt. It was a normal kind of thing. I probably came to Mexia two or three times a week. On one certain occasion, something terrible happened. I was with my aunt and my mother, and we were grocery shopping in Brookshires. Now remember, I was only 3 years old at the time, and I had to sit in the front seat of the shopping cart. My mom and my aunt stopped for a few minutes to discuss something that they were talking about. I, of course, had no clue what they were talking about, because I was in my own little world. Well after a while, I began to get impatient, as most three year olds tend to do when they’re not getting enough attention. So, I stood up, and tried to get someone’s attention, only they didn’t see me. By now they were through with their conversation, and had turned back around to continue on through the store. Since they hadn’t noticed that I was standing up, my aunt pushed the basket. The next thing I knew, I was falling down, down, down, until finally I had to stop, right? Except it wasn’t exactly comfortable when I landed. I fell onto the hard concrete floor, and busted my cheek open. Even thought I had busted my cheek open, the wound was minor, but with my being three and all, everyone started freaking out. My mom scooped me up, and her and my aunt fled the store. They got into their car and rushed me to the emergency room. I only received three stitches, and it could have been a lot worse. While in the emergency room, though, I screamed and cried and carried on, as any child would do seeing those odd medical utensils. My mom and aunt were also crying and carrying on, though I’m pretty sure they were in nowhere near as much pain as I was. After getting my stitches, and having my mom and my aunt calm down, we left the hospital to go and get free ice cream from McDonalds. I was fine after that, until I found out that I had to get my stitches taken out. Then I was the one who freaked out. I begged and tried to get my mom to let me stay at home, but she wouldn’t hear of it. I went back to the emergency room, and pretty much went through just as much pain in getting the stitches out than receiving them. It was definitely not in my top ten ways to spend two weeks. After all the pain was finally over, I got another coupon to get another free ice cream from McDonalds. Being the child that I was, receiving ice cream was a perfect reward for getting stitches, and having them taken out. I guess life pretty much works out that way. Sometimes you go through lots of pain, but if you really try hard, and you get through it, there will be a reward in the end.





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