My first "self-employed" job was I used to go to the local sale barn on Tuesdays, buy several dozen eggs (then about 12 cents a dozen), drag them all home on my bike, (with my homemade egg carrier), and then, clean them all up (they used to sell fresh, uncleaned eggs), put them in cartons, and peddle them for a quarter a dozen to all the neighbors (using the term loosely, since I rode about 5-7 miles).
It was cool.
The worse "stunt" (as my father called it), created the unique situation - the only time I ever saw my mother faint. My dad had just sharpened a big double headed broad axe, and he leaned it against a tree. He came in the house, and said "don't touch the axe".
Well, you all know what that means - go play with the axe. I didn't weigh much, so, I couldn't pick it up very well, and swing it, so I chose a sapling to practice on. Lesson learned - saplings really bounce. The axe hit it, bounced off, and hit my foot. I carefully put the axe back, and then walked around a bit, trying to decide what to do. My brand new patent leather shoe was scuffed - but then, my sock started looking like a thermometer in a heat wave - seeping ever upwards with red. Pretty soon, my whole shoe was sloshing blood, and I knew I had to go into the house.
Now, in my house, a lie was the biggest sin - much like I taught my own children - murder can be forgiven - lying never can.
As I got to the door, my dad opened it up, and I looked up at him. He said "you played with the axe, didn't you?" Rather than lie, I just stared up at him, saying absolutely nothing. He picked me up and brought me into the kitchen and sat me on the sink. Then he called my mother.
She came over, he unbuckled my shoe, looked at my shoe, slid down my sock, and took them both off at the same time - along with my big toe (only half severed). (boy, he sure could sharpen an axe).
Next thing I knew, my mother was on the floor. Only for a second or two, but I thought she had died from a heart attack. (it was a very long couple of seconds, as my dad got her back up).
He ran cold water from the handpump (we had a handpump at the kitchen sink), wrapped my foot in a towel, and off to the doctor we went.
(no hospitals back then - even my tonsils were taken out in the doctor's office).
My mother often said the worst thing she could hear from me (and she heard it often) was "Mom, I hurt myself"
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