Cracked Ribs

It had snowed. I was in kindergarten. Dad picked me up [he was living in his own apartment then-- the folks had gotten divorced]. I remember a hill and a toboggan. Dad was laying on it. "Jump on," he said. I remember the toboggan starting down the hill. I jumped on. We went down the hill.

I was a thin little mite. Even so, I had succeeded in cracking several of his ribs. Things were a bit painful for Dad for awhile. Coughing. Breathing. Laughing.

sapphoq on life says: It's not the weight we throw around. It's how we throw around our weight.