First stitches: Please enjoy my story and feel free to add your story below under comments. I will be looking forward to reading your story.

A Stitch of Time
I remember the winters of my youth as being mountains of white powder that rose above my head. With each snow storm the cliffs just got larger. Due to the height of the snow banks some parents immediately attached bike flags to the back of their children’s parkas, just so cars could see them when they approached an intersection. It was the winter of my eleventh year; snow didn’t stop my parents little soldiers to getting our driveway cleared along with every other elderly person’s driveway in a three block radius. This particular morning, school was canceled and my father was working the grave yard shift. My mother instantaneously woke us gently with her large forceful bellow. “Kids get the shoveling done, so your dad will be able to get into the driveway when he gets home”. Begrudgingly make it out side. My brother who was two years younger took inventory of the snow. “Yep, about another twenty inches, and heavy wet stuff too.” We knew how my Dad liked to be able to see the cement after the snow was removed, so we made a plan. Each of us took our assigned shovels, Kelly was placed with the duty of the backdoor, front door, and front porch. I stood directly behind Gary, we worked our way down the driveway. He took the top ten inches, I took the bottom. We giggled happily after seeing the progress we were making. Until, one time I looked up, and I saw a shovel flying towards my face. Gary on his back-swing accidentally struck me with his shovel. It did not hurt, but I thought to myself right away, “this is a great way to get out of this undertaking.” I then grabbed my face and darted towards the house. Kelly already was at the threshold yelling for mom, Gary was pleading for forgiveness, and inside I chuckled thinking I was fine. my mother’s response for us was, “shut up you’ll wake up the baby!” as I lie in a puddle of blood, writhing like a baby seal swatted at by a polar bear. My disposition changed quickly from laughter to fear. My mother took one look at me and said, “my lord kids what have you done now? Also don’t come any further in this house, now wait while I go get a rag”. I then figured I was at the alone mercy of my father, so that he would arrive home in the car so we could go to get my stitches. To this day, I still wear my scar with honor, it on the left-hand corner of my face between my nose and eye.

p.s. it was three stitches.