Kids being Kids
When I was pretty young, in elementary school most likely, I enjoyed collecting sharp things. I don't know if I had a violent streak, or if I just liked that I could cut things with them.
When my brother was young, 2 years, 5 months, and 7 days younger at any given point in time, he had his first big seizure. Now, my brother has had a number of medical episodes, that probably terrified my parents. He and I were both birthed at home, but he had to got to the hospital afterwards. I am not sure why.
When we were both really little, in the house on 7311 Indiana ave, Little Rock, AR, he was playing near the door to my parents' bedroom at the base of the stairs--he had previously ridden a toy car that he was addicted to scooting around on down these stairs and had an accident--and he closed the door on his finger in the door. He didn't close it in the part that the knob is on, but in the part where the hinges are, where the door is never more than an inch from the frame. This was my first lesson in physics: while the speed of the door covers more distance and is faster near the knob, it has a lot more torque near the hinges, and resists changes in momentum more strongly, and is easily capable of chopping off my brother's finger, which it did. They sewed it back on and it works fine now, somehow.
He also had to have an undescended testicle removed from his lower abdomen. When we were tested for allergies, and early memory of sharp needles in my back, i came out clean and he was allergic to everything. He was also diagnosed with a learning disability about 400 times.
The seizure though. I remember being downstairs and my mom being home, and going up to my brother's room, which he stayed in for most of the day, lining up hundreds of matchbox cars in carpeted parking lots. She had not seen him for a while, and when she found him with pupils dilated mouth foaming, body shaking, etc., she had to get him to the hospital and she was worried because she didn't know how long he'd been like that.
I have many memories of my mom sitting on the floor, looking a little helpless, and very much worried, with my brother in her arms, crying, bleeding, shaking, fighting, pulling her hair, sweating, writhing, cursing, confusing, terrifying, elevating heart rates, taking years off of lives, strengthening, looking mean, looking scared, looking unnaturally strong in the middle of a teenaged tantrum.
So the next day I was doing what I usually did at that age, roam around the yard, imagining things, picking nails and sharp pieces of metal out of the dirt. Excavating, collecting sharp things. Then my parents brought me to the hospital with my grandparents to visit my brother, when when we got there everyone looked very worried. I walked towards the front desk to enter the hallway that led to his room, and there was a metal detector, so people were leaving their keys on the desk with the receptionist. I approached the bench, and emptied my pockets of 30 large nails, and a sharp, rusted, shard of metal. The receptionist was very worried. I remember at that age thinking she looked stupid because of how confused she was. Maybe she though I was up to something sinister, and I remember thinking that everyone there thought I was some kind of disturbed epileptic-harming child.
I was just being a kid, doing what I normally did, visiting my brother in the hospital, institution, etc., which I don't normally do, even though he normally ends up there.