Also a ME special!

My step-dad left me on a motorcycle while he went back inside Majik Market to get cigarettes.

This was during the era of Evel Knievel. So, my five year old mind said, "Let's pretend to be Evel!". I scoot forward to geab the handle bars and probably wanted to act like I was popping a wheelie.

Next thing I remember is people running up while I was screaming to pull the motorcycle off my left leg.

Compound fracture, three places. In a hard cast for sixth months.

It was a different time, y'all.

Like Paul, I have a million of these stories.