I grew up in a rural country valley, away from any shopping conveniences, gas stations, traffic lights or paved roads for that matter. We did not have a dump to take garbage to, but a hole – dug in our backyard – where we burned our waste.
One time when I was eight my dad had left me in charge of watching the fire, being very responsible I made sure that the flames were staying under control and that the hose was nearby but not too close – so not to melt. That’s when I noticed the box of matches that had been left too close to the fire. For some reason, I thought I need to move those now. So I quickly picked the up the box and took it away from the fire, and that when a gunshot went off.
When I came to my mother and Granny were hovering around me, everything was blurry, my ears were ringing, and there was a bunch of yelling going on. Come to find out – I had been shot with an exploding aerosol can in the back of the head! It had burned away all my hair in a perfect circle leaving a blistering impression, and I was the one doing all the yelling.
I know God inspired me to move – for if I had not moved – I would not be alive today. It hit in the lower base of my head, where the neck connects to the skull with enough force to move me ten feet – I’m lucky it didn’t break my neck or give me a fractured skull.
That was then – nowadays I suffer from migraines from the scarring – although it gives me a chance to see a chiropractor on a regular basis – which I find most enjoyable and to see the world through rose-colored glasses – which I wear everywhere to ease the strain on my eyes.