DP #1: A Story

One story that my parents always tell about me is about how by the time I was five years old, I had made three gashes in my head, which all required stiches. The first incident happened on the playground in preschool. I was riding this red tricycle around and around in dizzying circles, and another tricycle riding boy comes plowing into me head on, sending me crashing to the ground. I fell so hard that I made a gash on my forehead and the teacher had to call my dad and ask him to take me to the ER. Though, the funny part was that even though my head was numb with a local anesthetic, I still insisted on asking the doctor if I could hold a mirror up to my head, and watch while he stiched it up. He let me, and I just sat there on the table, watching attentively. This was just one of three times that such incidents occurred, and the story gets told over and over again. Often times, when I fall down and hurt myself, my parents always say something along the lines of, "Antonia, remember way back in preschool when dad had to take you to the ER for those gashes you made in your head?" Every time they bring it up, a sense of childhood nostalgia washes over me, as I recall the sweet innocence that filled my experiences. One reason why I think they always tell this story is because it reinforces a positive aspect of my personality, which is that I am very determined. In both a literal and metaphorical sense, whenever I fall down, I always get back up, and keep going no matter what gets in the way.