When Linda G. Hill gave us the word “bone” as the topic for this week’s Stream of Consciousness Saturday prompt, I will admit that the first thing that came to mind was the slang term for what happens to a certain part of the male anatomy when in a state of sexual arousal. So I guess it’s true that even men of my advanced age can occasionally think like a 17-year-old hormonal boy.
But then I reconsidered and thought about the four broken bones I’ve had in my entire life. Fortunately, all were relatively minor fractures. And all happened when I was a lot younger.
I broke a toe delivering newspapers on my paper route when I was around 11. I was wearing sneakers and was running up cement steps when I guess I misjudged where my foot was and ended up kicking one of the steps really hard, breaking a bone in my big toe.
My next broken bone occurred during a little league baseball game. I was playing second base and was attempting to field a ground ball when it took a weird bounce. Because I’m right handed, my baseball glove was on my left hand, and when the ball took that unexpected bounce, it smashed into the pinky finger on my right hand, breaking the middle phalanx bone. My pinky finger on my right hand remains misshapen to this day.
Finally, when I was in my late-twenties, I took a nasty spill on a black diamond ski slope and cracked two ribs. If you’ve ever cracked a rib or two, then you know that, for about a month after having broken a rib, you don’t want to sneeze or laugh. And you also don’t want anyone to hug you. Breaking a rib has a very sad, lonely recovery period.
And so there you have my history of broken bones. Perhaps this post might have been more interesting had I gone ahead and written about what first came to mind when I saw the word “bone.”