While all this was occurring we were occupied in the basement of the Town Hall getting our Polio vaccinations. I did not like the guy giving me my shot. He acted as if I were stupid when he pointed and said. “ Oh, there is a mosquito over there in the corner. I hope it doesn't sting you. Oops it stung you.” He made this foolish observation, just as he jabbed the excruciating needle into my arm. No mosquito bite would ever be equal to that pain

That vaccination caused a big stir for me. Trudy's brother was quite a bit younger than I who was around five or six. He saw the scab on my arm and asked,“What is that?” As he picked it off. A problem resulted because as my mother explained, “You have Native American blood which causes you to form keloids on your scar for your vaccination. A keloid is a raised thickened scar.”  

Later on that scar looked like a slightly flattened out piece of bubblegum on my arm. I had to have surgery on it to have it reduced in thickness and height. Now, it's just big. The scar has grown and widened just like the scar on my knee from when it got rolled over by the pickup truck. I guess when we get older scars get bigger.

Trudy’s older brother Jake came up to the clinic where it was being held in the basement of the Town Hall to notify Mother her car was down over the bank in the brook. I don't remember but I imagine a wrecker had to go pull it all the way back up. Fortunately, there was no real damage and Mother could still take me out on the roadways.  

In the 50’s there was no law about a minimal age for driving, nor was there a need for permits.  I had only ever driven that car an automatic. In the 60’s Mother wanted to teach me how to drive her new standard.  I was not used to shifting the gears.  I could not seem to get the timing of hitting the clutch and pressing the gas pedal.  We chugged and lurched all the way to the drugstore, laughing hysterically.  Mother decided that was enough for that day and drove us back home.  

When it came time for the driving test, Mother had bought an automatic-shift stationwagon. That was the one in which I gave everybody rides.  The activity during which my friends and I took turns driving around to spy on parked cars, was known as “necker checking.”  These adventures were not without incident.  There was rumor of someone shooting at a car of ”necker checkers”.  We were very cautious of any cars moving toward us.  

On one occasion, we headed toward a farmer’s driveway, to escape a car following directly behind us.  It followed us right into the driveway. Everyone was frightened until we all realized that the car belonged to the farmer. Another time we were chasing another car around the streets on a slippery winter evening.  When the car in front took a quick right turn down a steep hill, I tried to take the same turn but slewed into a stump.  

We were saved from plunging down a very steep embankment and sailing onto the roof of one of my classmates’ houses.  When one of the other kids was driving around the cemetery in her parents' new car, she got stuck in the mud up to the middle of the hubcaps.  Everyone had to walk to another classmate’s house to call a wrecker. I think she was quite worried because she had her parents' new car. I don't know how it turned out for her, we never heard.            

It’s interesting to know that my father had said when we were younger than 10, “As a lawyer, I have dealt with too many legal cases of bicycle accidents .  In 4th and 5th grade Nike and I got our first bicycles. Two weeks later, Nike was speeding down the hill from the O'Toole's store, hit slippery gravel and went flying forward, chipping his two front teeth, gouging his chin and jamming a handle bar into his ribs.  

This seemed to be a foreshadowing of things yet to come.  In addition to getting hit in the head with a good-sized rock at an earlier age, this would be Nike’s third head injury.  The worst one was yet to come and ironically, as if this were all a foreshadowing, he was struck while on a bicycle, on the Ides of March,  a few days before his 40th birthday.  This time he was thrust backwards onto the hood, slamming into the driver’s windshield with his forehead.   

I got word of the accident during a Shelter board meeting. My director and dear friend Anne went with me to the hospital and sat with me for a while.  Mother, my sister, Cassie and her husband Don were there.  Nike’s wife, Helen had for her first time gone on vacation to Florida and was just arriving there, only to return. Nike had left work and was sitting on his bicycle near the middle line waiting to cross onto another street when he was hit at 30 mph. by a minister who was going to be giving a talk to a youth group. I swear he must have been either checking a schedule, his talk or directions there.   

After Anne left, I had nothing to help my focus and became very agitated.  I saw no reason for sitting around waiting.  Don said he’d bring me home.  I know everyone there must have thought I didn’t care. I still don’t understand what went on inside me that night. I just knew I couldn’t be with anyone, I needed to be by myself.  When I got back to the small group of her Sisters I told them what had happened. They spent some time with me, then I went to my room. 

As you know, I’ve always felt responsible for my brother and at that moment there was absolutely nothing I could do.  No one knew if he’d even live through the night.     

Head injuries are not anything like they are portrayed on TV where the hero wakes up and asks, “How many days have I been unconscious?  Where’s my gun so I can go get the SOB who did this to me?”  On the contrary...