Every year, we assist my grandparents in VBS at their church. Every year, we prepare and decorate in the empty church for a few days. Every year, everything remained safe; except for this year, it was different.


Our grandparents attend church in Fairfax, Oklahoma. Fairfax rests on a brief stretch of road no longer than three football fields. We (my brother, my mom, my grandma and I) drove to their church on a weekday at approximately one or two o’clock. My brother and I, as usual, raced around, fighting about something that would have no relevance ten minutes later. He then began to chase me around the three-story Baptist church. At this time, I was about seven and my brother ten. Since he was a large boy, I grew afraid of how he could hurt me if he caught up with me. Therefore, I sprinted to the best of my ability, and did everything I could to stay away from him.


After five minutes, I became fatigued and wanted to rest somewhere he could not get to me. An idea came to mind. Hiding in the women’s restroom would give me the opportunity to rest and a chance to get away from him. Panting heavily, I scurried into the bathroom. Even though the church was empty, I did not think he would try to come in. I turned around to shut the door, and there he was running in full speed toward the restroom door. In response, I quickly shut the door and propped my foot against the bottom of the door, holding it shut with my hands. He charged at the door, using himself as a battering ram to pry it open. The door shook and the full-length mirror fell on my foot, but did not shatter. In pain, I fell down, twisting my foot in the wrong direction.
Screaming in agony, I waited until my brother retrieved my mom. She asked me if I thought I had broken, sprained or just bruised it and I replied that I did not know. Although, I did know that I wanted her to drive me to the emergency room. Since the closest emergency room would take thirty minutes to drive to, we decided to check-in at the closest doctor’s office. The preparation and decoration of VBS was put to a stop until the results of my ankle predicament were known. At the doctor’s office, they took a few x-rays of my leg and then told me the news. I did not break my foot, but I did sprain my ankle. Wisely, the physician advised me to wear an ace bandage and put as little pressure on it as possible. With a three-story building and walking up and down stairs for a week, walking as little as possible would be impossible.


For the next week, all the strong men of the church needed to either act as crutches for me as I went up and down the stairs, or simply carry me. As helpless as a newborn baby, I grew frustrated, having to rely on other people for everyday tasks. Nevertheless, I stuck through the almost two weeks with dignity (although I looked stupid hopping on one foot everywhere). Overall, I learned my lesson: if you fight with Brent, be prepared to get hurt.