Part 1 -- 40 Years Ago Today, A Classmate Broke Both My Arms
No small feat.
This is Part 1 of a 2-part post about the event in the title, which occurred on October 5, 1983. Each post will be hyperlinked to the others. Here is Part Two.
Everyone’s name has been changed.
Exactly 40 years ago today, a seventh-grade classmate broke both my arms in one swoop. No small feat.
The violence in question occurred after lunch during 5th-period physical education (PE) class. We were set to play a relaxed game of touch football, which is simple. The offense runs a play and a defensive player can end the play by placing two hands on the opponent carrying the ball. Tackling is not allowed. Almost every boy in America at some point plays “touch” with his friends. It’s fun; play is quick; and no one gets hurt deliberately.
As we began, our teacher, Mrs. Donaldson, realized that she had forgotten something in the gym, so she ran back inside.
In the meantime, the class was left unsupervised, which figures mightily later in this story.
I was about to learn that the meaning of “touch” was subject to wide interpretation.
On the play at the center of the action, I was on the left side of our defense across from Adam, whom I barely knew. He was tall, big, fast, and always angry.
“I’m coming for you,” he seethed through his missing front tooth.
His friend, David, who was at least twice as strong as Adam, moved toward him and said firmly, “Don’t do it, Adam, don’t do it.”
It was too late – the course of play was too quick for both David and me.
When the quarterback snapped the ball, Adam covered the distance between us like a freight train. He crossed his arms, lowered his head, and then exploded into my chest. I can still remember the sound – a balloon popping with rage. He sent me flying backward through the air, where I remained until I landed on both arms behind my back.
I’ve been told that I was flailing about, screaming “I can’t move my arms” while doing precisely that like an overturned beetle. It’s kind of funny now; it wasn’t funny then.
When the pain set in, I knew that seventh grade had taken a turn for the worse.
That’s when things got interesting.
Until soon, with part 2 …
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Thanks for not making us wait more than 24 hours. And I want to know wtf that big d-bag thought he was doing and why! I mean, I can guess both, but only generically.
Jeezo, Ben, that sounds painful. Looking forward to part 2 where hopefully you get upgraded like The Six Million Dollar Man and go all Lee Majors on that bully Adam!