I have skateboarded for seven years; time and time again have I fallen, but nothing more than a mere scratch or cut. I never took falling seriously. After all, I am invincible, right? Well, so I thought. None of my friends ever wore helmets or pads, because they considered them “uncool.” My mom would repeatedly say, “Kayal, wear a helmet when you go skateboarding. Make sure you wear a helmet.” I just ignored her.

One day, my friends and I went street skating through the neighborhood. As we flew down hills, I could feel the cool, refreshing air of the summer breeze whip across my face, my hair waving madly. Suddenly, something went horribly wrong. My board began to wobble intensely, and I lost all control. I flew off of my board, and tumbled down the massive hill at a rapid speed, heading towards my death. Horrifying thoughts streamed into my mind. Oh no! What if I die? I never even got to drink 20 sodas in a row. I’m too young to die! I kept toppling downwards, until, finally, I stopped, but then the real pain began. I could feel bruises, cuts, and bumps all over my body. The ground had brutally ripped the skin off me, blood gushed down my arms like a river, and my head started spinning. I saw my friends run over to me. “Are you ok?” they asked. Yes, I’m perfectly fine, I thought to myself. How could anyone feel fine after a fall like that? For some reason, I chuckled, and then passed out.

Quite lucky for me, the lady who occupied the house I had fallen outside of turned out to be a nurse, and she had just gotten home. She helped me out quite a bit, even though I lay half-conscious. She put several ice packs on me, cleaned some of my wounds, and called my mom.

I woke up in my mom’s car. I had no idea of my whereabouts or what had happened. Then, I looked down and saw my scraped legs, warm, crimson blood trickling down them. My mom looked back at me and asked how I felt. She looked worried sick. I tried to talk but only managed to groan, “I fell. It hurts.” “I know,” she replied. “Now, don’t you wish you had worn a helmet?” As I lay in silence, I could hear the cars rushing by and the seat squeaking noisily underneath me. All the noises around me sounded magnified. I could even hear the birds chirping outside. My mind began racing and aching, and I got extremely dizzy.

I woke up once more, this time at the hospital emergency room. I had passed out again. I felt extremely sick. I barely managed to stand up and hobble over to the bathroom. I leaned over the sink and threw up. I started to feel dizzy again, but this time managed not to black out. After throwing up two more times, I walked back to the waiting room. Why did they make me wait if this was an emergency room? Should they not have examined me immediately?

“Kuh yell Connor,” called the nurse. About half an hour later, the doctor sauntered in with a jovial expression. “I see you have not been wearing a helmet,” he said. The doctor weighed, examined, and x-rayed me. Then, he informed me that I had a broken arm and two large bumps on my head. He said that I would need to stay off of my skateboard for at least six months. What would I do while all my friends skated? I had certainly learned my lesson. That helmet would stay on my head from now on.

Watching movies and television, eating, and occasionally taking my dog outside. For the six months that followed my injury, this continued to be my life. I felt as though I had locked myself up in a jail cell. I had never felt so bored in my life.

Skateboarding is my life. When I was released from my no-more-skateboarding prison, I took out my skateboard and helmet and began my first day of skateboarding. Although, even after falling so hard, I still do not wear a helmet. I remember a man saying, “Ignorance can be fixed, stupid is forever.” I now know the consequences of not wearing a helmet, but I will never actually wear one.