I was a kid. I don’t know how old I was, but I’m almost certain I hadn’t started elementary school. There I was though, in what we called the dining room of my mother’s house. The room was dark; I think it was night; and I must’ve been watching or had recently watched Superman on TV because I remember being excited and inspired enough to try to emulate him.

I did that by pretending to fly. I don’t know what I stood on. I’m guessing it was a chair, but it could just as well have been a table or something. I just remember jumping off with my arms out like he did. It’s not that I really believed I could fly. It was more that, as a kid, my mind wasn’t developed enough to fully consider the consequences of my actions.

When I landed, assumedly on the floor, I was hurt bad. How bad I didn’t know, but it was the initial shock more than the pain that made me cry. I don’t know if my mother was in the room to witness it, but she wasn’t far away. I remember her being there with a man friend, but I don’t remember her reaction. The next thing I remember is being in the hospital.

I don’t know how long I was there, but I think I needed surgery, so I’m guessing at least several hours (overnight) if not a few days. I remember being in a gown connected to some kind of rolling walker via what I now assume was a catheter. I don’t even know what my injury was, but it had something to do with my groin area like bladder trauma or some kind of hernia.

The one good part of the whole experience came when it was time to go home. The nurse or nurses gave me some plastic glow-in-the-dark stars to stick on my bedroom walls and ceiling, which I did when I got home. I loved those stickers and having them, staring up at them in the darkness of night, remains one of my most cherished childhood memories.