The flying sister

When I was a child we had a wonderful tire swing on the hill beside our house. It was perfectly placed at the top of the hill so you could swing super high into the air. One of the games we loved to play was to grab the tire on the inside of the tire ring, pull it back as far as it would go, and then run and swing out over the hill. Yes, it was good times and good fun until the day it killed my sister.

My dad was outside cutting grass that afternoon and my sister and I went out to play on the swing. We decided to play that particular game even though we had been warned in the past by my parents not to swing that way because we could get hurt. Of course we did not listen because, really, what did they know?

So everything was going along fine and dandy until my sister took the tire up really high and went tearing across the hill. I guess she under estimated how high she was going to go until she was in mid-air and she panicked. She let go of the tire and hit the ground like a ton of lead.

Now I freak out and run toward her, praying that my dad didn't just see what had happened, when I noticed that she hadn't really moved since she hit the ground. She was lying there on her stomach with her face turned toward me with one arm sprawled out and the other arm tangled somewhere beneath her body. Then I see it. She has blood on her face.

So my nine-year-old self quickly assesses the situation and I realized if someone on TV is dead, they usually have blood coming out of their mouth.

Oh shit. She's dead.

I rack my brain and try not to panic, desperate to figure out what I need to do. I changed directions and decided not to go towards her but to go get my dad who is still cutting grass, unaware of the tragedy that had just taken place.

Dad, she's dead, she's dead. Hurry and get over there.

I ran toward him screaming like a wild banshee, pointing at my sister's crumpled body on the hillside. He finally noticed her and ran to get her as I zoomed past him for the safety of the house.

I must admit the thought of seeing my sister on her deathbed was a little scary, but I had much more important thoughts going through my mind at the time. I did not want to get my ass whooped for swinging on the bottom of the tire swing after we had been told not to. Hell, she was already dead what could they do to her? That meant I would be facing the wrath ALONE.

As the youngest of six children this had never happened to me before. I had never watched a sibling fall to their doom before either, but more importantly I had never had to face punishment alone and I was petrified. Normally by the time the parents got done punishing all of the other children, they usually had their frustration out and spared me. I believe the line went something like this, how old are you? Now how old is she? Alright then - you should know better.

I barely reached the top of the stairs when I hear my dad and my very-much alive and wailing sister come into the house. She is holding her obviously broken arm up to her chest and limping beside my dad who is screaming for my mother to get the car keys.

Praise the Lord, she was alive and better yet, he didn't know what we had been doing that had caused the fall. They were too caught up in the moment and only wanted to get the poor child some help so they didn't even ask how it happened.

Of course, she did break her arm in several places and cut up her mouth and it was summer time so she did have to go ALL SUMMER in the heat with a cast. I'm sure she probably has some fear of heights now and I bet it's safe to say she'll never go sky diving, but at least I didn't get a whipping so I think it all worked out just fine.