After an hour of outdoor PE in the blazing fall sun, my gym pals and I ran diagnally across the gymnasium to the locker room door. For some unknown and really weird reason, right when my friend and I got to the door, I stepped to the right to let her in. Nice manners? Unless you consider I was at the dead run of a hyper 13 year old.
Apparently I ran face first into said wall. The cinder block one. Yeah, that was brilliant. I don’t really remember because it knocked me out cold. Don’t even know how I hit the floor or even how long I was out cold. When I came to, it was to look into the face of my father, the doctor, whose office was in another Chicago suburb. I could think about how long it took someone to get around to notifying the office so they could look up my home phone and call my mother, who would have called my father at work, who probably was in with a patient, so she probably waited on hold, way longer than you have waited for me to end this very long, run-on sentence.
So, I’m really not clear on much about what happened later or what Dad did to take care of me or even if I changed and went to my next class. I never really thought much about it for decades.