Self Inflicted

As I recall there were many times as a kid that I got my bell rung just being a kid. There are two times that were especially bad. They both took place at 1960 Lampson Road in Upsate NY on a nice little gentlemen's farm. My parents were from NJ and bought a family home owned by relatives that had a small house and seven barns of various sizes. It was a cool place for a only child to entertain himself. My first real good bell ringer was because of a punishment that I found to be unjust and uncalled for. The house was set back off the road next to some railroad tracks and an old abandoned train hub. We had a long dirt drive way and I had a sweet tricked out banana seat chopper bike. I was riding my bike around one day showing off for my uncle Frank at the age of probably 6. Riding in the road was not permitted as the speed limit was probably 45 but folks went faster. Well on this particular day I wanted to do something special to show Frank how cool I was and I decided to hit a burm in front of the old train station landing in the road right as a truck was passing by luckily I was unharmed, but everyone including the driver thought I was a goner. Well my Dad was a pretty strict guy and he always made his point. I broke the rule and broke it badly. He took my bike for a whole year and to add insult to injury he hung the bike from the rafters of the big barn. This is where the self inflicted part comes in, well ya see my dad traveled for work at that time and my mom had a job too which left me home alone hence the bike being tied up. This bike was sweet and looking at it every day was killing me. I of course had to go for it. This barn was big and the rafters were really high up. But, I was determined to ride the bike while my dad was out of town stash it and then tie it back up there before his return. So I found a pocket knife and a dull one at that on my mom's desk and made my plan. I waited till my dad was gone I got home from school my mom was working and it was just me the knife and the bike. I shimmed out on those rafters and started cutting away at the bailing twine it was tied with about a third of the way through I got real tired and the dang knife was so dull. So I start hacking at it instead of cutting it an wack I cut my finger then thud. I woke up on the barn floor. I was left with a cut finger and definitely a concussion. Did I tell anyone nope would you? Learned my lesson though got me a nice Camillus Pocket Knife that summer at the Gun Show and kept it sharp.