A Broken Leg

 

          Long ago in the state of Oklahoma, when I was nothing but a teenager, my cousin had a brand 

new moped.  My cousin had been having fun tearing up my grandparents' yard with his moped.  He 

soon called for me to go on a ride on it, and I being young had no better since than to agree to it.  

Neither of us realized that the moped would not put up with the weight of the two of us.

        What I did know was that it looked like loads of fun.  I got on to the bike, and as we went for our 

second or third loop the bike fell over.  I started to limp on my leg, but my uncle called me a faker.  He

 said, "That's the worst fake job I ever did see." 

        I went home that night from Nowata to Bartlesville with my leg in pain.  The next morning my 

mother saw that my leg was still hurting me, and took me to Jane Phillips Hospital to have it checked 

out.  When the hospital took an X-ray of it, they found not only was it broken but it had been broken 

before time.  According to my mother's recollection (and later on my father agreed) it would have had 

to been broken when I was hit by a car at the age of ten.

          For at that time there was no full body X-ray done, and my body was lying still for nearly six 

weeks.  My body lay still, or nearly so, while I was in a coma, and there was little if any movement.  

Therefore, that was the only answer to be given by either of my parents.

Paul D. Eccles