I was eight years old, in third grade; my brother Randy was four. It was 1966 and we had just moved into a 120-year-old farmhouse on 26 acres of wooded land in Quakertown, Pennsylvania. We lived across the street from Rock Hill Mountain, a medium-sized mountain with an elevation of 900 feet above sea level. It had very rugged woods with boulders left over from the ice age.
We decided to explore the woods across the street from our new home. We crossed the road and entered the thick woods; the trees shaded the summer day’s bright sunshine. As our eyes adjusted to the darkness, Randy said, “Look at the rocks, they’re humongous.”
There were many boulders, some as big as a house. I climbed up on a rock about the size of a pickup truck. Next to it, about 20 feet away, was another boulder. The sun filtered through the forest and I noticed a thick vine hanging from a tree. It was gnarly and felt rough in my hands. I tentatively hung on it to see if it would hold my weight.
“Randy, watch this.” I grabbed hold of the vine and swung away from the rock. To my surprise, I easily swung over to the next rock.
“Wow,” Randy said, “let me try.”
“It’s easy, watch.” I swung back to the rock. Randy’s eyes were wide open as his little hands grabbed hold of the vine. He pushed off and swung into the distance but didn’t quite make it to the next rock.
“Help,” he yelled and ended up back where he started, in my arms.
“Try again,” I said. This time he made it.
We swung on that vine for hours, having the time of our lives. It started to get dark, so I decided to have one last swing. I grabbed the vine and pushed off of the rock. I slipped and went sideways straight toward a tree. I crashed into it face first and fell to the ground. I saw a bright flash and my upper teeth cut through to my lower lip. My face was covered in blood.
I stood up and said, “I’m okay.” Randy had a shocked look on his face.
We crossed the street to the farmhouse and I pushed the screen door open. I said, “Mom, I had a little…” The world swirled around me and I passed out in the door well face up.
As I came to, I heard Randy shriek, “HE’S DEAD!” Mom was looking down at me, carefully looking at my wound.
She smiled at me and said, “Are you okay?”
In a woozy voice I said, “I think so.”
Of course, everything was fine. We went to the doctor to be sure. I still have a scar on my lower lip as a souvenir of my first adventure in Quakertown.
Ah, Scott. Remember when kids used to go out and roam around all day long? Our parents didn't even know where we were most of the time. Right after breakfast it was, "Go outside and play, for God's sake!" We wouldn't come back until dinner time. You think parents would let their two little boys head out into the woods alone these days? Not on your life! Your parents and mine would probably be arrested for neglect these days! So we lost a little blood now and then? It made us strong, confident and brave. Thanks for the memory!