Me, as a child, was never really the daredevil kind.
I did have my moments here and there, which ran along on the edge of stupidity and dumbness that I'm still carrying to this day. (Some traits never do leave you, do they?)
If I had to explain how my childhood went, the only word that would come to mind is,"weird."
I was always the type of kid who avoided social interaction, and most of my days were spent lurking in the woods, poking at wild insects, and lying across fields. I also passed my time making younger children cry by chasing them around with my cricket bat, but that's another story. (I have a rather shameful past as you can see….)
Now, on to the accident.
Besides the usual scraps on the knees and elbows for running around all day, I was a kid who stayed almost free from any severe injuries. I never had to get admitted to a hospital, which was a plus in my books. But there was this one accident that did manage to almost, almost kill me while providing my parents a mental trauma for the rest of their lives with anything related to chairs, so... yeah, I think I did pretty well in the accident department...
The thing that had caused the whole dying scenario was, of course, my infatuation with "Spider-man."
Back then, the first spider-man movie starring Tobey had been released, and along with the cartoons broadcasted on various tv channels about this masked jumping climbing spider boy, my five-year-old brain was hooked to it like a fish on a wire.
So like any obsessed child with a stubborn tantrum streak, I wanted to be exactly like him.
From my clothes to my room, I wanted everything in red and blue. And with all the spider-jumps I performed from atop wardrobes and tables surely weren’t keeping the neighbours downstairs very happy.
I deemed myself as a glorious sidekick back then, the true true born flesh and blood of spider-man himself! ( Kids have vivid imaginations, what can I say?)
Who dared to even stop me!?
— Our dining chairs, apparently.
It all started rather cinematically, to be honest.
The night was dark and cold. And as it was some sort of holiday in our country, most stores and places were closed off early.
I, like my angelic self, was tottering around the dining area, sniffing for food and constantly whining to my mother about dinner. And that was when I decided that my spider-senses were tingling.
See, we had gotten a new dining table set just about a day ago. It was a solid wooden block, and the chairs had sharp edges that glistened under the light.
I think it was probably that glistening that made me do what I did. I was always attracted to shiny things…
It didn't take a minute for me to get into position. Placing myself onto one of those chairs, I felt like I was on top of the Empire State Building, looking down onto the mortals—"and oh! Look! Just across the block, a citizen needs my help!!"
So up, up and I went, using my spider web to jump from building to building, ready to save the day…
That was until I slipped.
Apparently, my little feet were too short to make the leap from one chair to another, so like the Gwen Stacy to Andrew Garfield's spider-man, I fell.
The result of the fall had been rather devastating. According to my sister, my forehead had hit the corner of the chair, giving me a third eye right on the spot, making blood spill out all over the floor as my wailing started.
Because of the national holiday, most local pharmacies were closed around our area. And since there were no taxis on the road either, my parents had to literally sprint with me in their arms to find the nearest doctor at 9 pm, all the while holding my head down, so I didn't lose more blood and, well, die.
I had to get three stitches to close the bloody thing up. And I had screamed like a siren along the whole process, my mother said.
Safe to say that that incident, marked the end of my spider-man journey. I don't know why I even liked spider-man to begin with. I hate spiders…