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Following the Rules

The Joy of Childhood Trauma

I stood there with my thumb lodged in a steel door; bones shattered and blood pouring down cold metal. I was screaming. My older brother had his hand over my mouth.

“Shut up, Alex. It’s okay.”

It was another cruise in the Caribbean; seven nights of warm weather and beach. My thumb was destroyed and nobody knew what to do. I screamed again.

Let's get out of here.

Let’s get out of here.

My family was throwing pillows at each other in the living room. I threw one and my little brother’s head hit the wall. More screaming. He fell to the floor. More blood. He still has a scar.

I was on the couch watching TV and my older brother pushed me. His glass was on the ground. I fell and it shattered. More blood, more screaming, more trauma. I still have scars on my face, but you can’t see them.

It was Valentines day. A stuffed bear was on the shelf. My parents wouldn’t buy it. I screamed till we left the store.

I still miss that bear.

How do parents watch their kids get hurt and keep moving forward?

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