My Aunt Lynn's house was the scene of my first injury. My great grandmother lived near Aunt Lynn. The family was coffee drinkers and my great grandmother Gildon used snuff. They would save their coffee cans for her as a spittoon. They used more coffee than my great grandmother used the spittoons. Thus the spare cans were kept in the barn until they were needed. For those of you who never had coffee in their houses, the cans were opened on the top and were razor sharp. Today they have it in plastic reusable containers. Oh well.
My cousins and I were playing hide and seek in the barn,when I managed to trip over the cans and slit my throat. Donald and Robert ran up to the house with me dripping blood everywhere. I remember them setting me on the kitchen table trying to figure out how bad it was. They finally got it cleaned enough to see it would take stitches to close the wound. I was wrapped in a towel and taken to the emergency room. There is where, my memory stops. I had to have 9 stitches to close the wound, and still have the scar today. As I grew, it moved from my neck to under my chin. No one was really upset that much, when you live on a farm, accidents happen.