In the summer of 2010 or 2011, when I was about 7 or 8 years old, my family and I took a trip along the east coast and we stopped in Massachusetts, like we always do. I was with my sister, my mom, my two younger cousins, and my extremely German grandmother. I loved going to Massachusetts, because we would go see Plymouth Rock and we would go to a lot of seafood restaurants, not to mention that the town is full of history and I love history. The hotel we stayed at was, of course, beach themed and had an amazing indoor pool with a sauna (8 year old me thought this was the coolest thing).

  On the second day of our time in Massachusetts, we went to the shore to go whale watching. The shore had a little town square with small shops surrounding the middle of the park. The air was sticky with salty water and the stores were decorated with seashells and boat trinkets. People crowded the small souvenir shops and stood at the edge of the water to memorize the perfect view from the beach. When we got to the whale watching ticket booth, my mom had to wait in line for the tickets, but just outside of the building, there was an anchor on display in the shore park. Naturally, all the kids got bored, so we went outside with my grandmother to watch over us. My mom and my grandmother both told all of us not to climb the anchor. Of course, I didn’t listen and neither did my sister nor cousins.

So, we’re climbing this anchor and there isn't enough room for all of us, so we are constantly pushing and shoving each other. I finally reach the top with my sister by my side. A giant smile spread across my face and my heart was racing as I realized my great accomplishment, that’s when it all went downhill

(dun..Dun..DUN…). My foot slipped off the side and I fell down and smacked the hard brick underneath me. The first thing I saw when I opened my eyes was a hole in my sock, which was still attached to the prong of the anchor. Man was I pissed, those were my good socks with little flowers on them.

  After my anger passed from the hole in my sock, I felt a stabbing pain in my leg. I realized that my sock wasn’t the only thing that ripped because of the anchor. I look down and see a slice in the back of my thigh and blood oozing out all over my leg. Why did I climb that stupid anchor? My natural instinct is to cry for help, but my grandmother’s instinct is to say I told you so and have no sympathy at all. She said, no don’t you cry I told you this would happen. She gave me a napkin to clean myself up so I can limp over to my mom to get help. Might I remind you THAT I HAVE A GIANT SLICE IN THE BACK OF MY THIGH AND IM LITERALLY LIKE SEVEN. So, I start limping over to my mom and she has the same exact reaction as my grandmother and continues to call me stupid. Her solution is to slap a band aid on that bad boy and call it a day. I clearly needed stitches but she said it’s just a leg, you don’t need stitches.

  We still went whale watching even though there was a hole in my leg. I never went to the doctor and I had to put band aids on my leg for like two months until it finally healed. That day I learned two things, my mom is just like my grandmother in the sense that she has no sympathy for stupidity, and that I was stupid. To this day, I scowl at the anchor when we walk past that park. At least now I know to listen to my mother and not climb sharp objects.