As a young boy of 3 or so, I broke my left wrist. According to my mother, I was climbing on the back of the couch and fell off. According to me, my younger sister, a newborn at the time, pushed me off. I’ll continue to use my version, despite its unlikeliness, as it comforts me to think my sister was messing with my life right from the get-go of hers.
I’ve managed to avoid my sister’s bone-breaking ways for the past 35 years, despite some of her best efforts during childhood. My fortune may have come to an end earlier this week, because while watering plants around my home, I tripped over the base to my son’s basketball hoop as I walked backwards to straighten out a garden house. To break the fall, I used my left wrist and in turn may have fractured a bone near my thumb.
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