Trauma Bound

The Park

The neighborhood on Ann St. Millstone, NJ, was fun as I got a little older. There was a park across the street. The park had a tree for climbing with enough low branches that even tiny toddler sized me, at five years old could climb it. The tree was my favorite place in the park. I loved to climb to the lowest branch and just sit and watch all of the older kids playing ball, rolling down the field on barrels, and hanging out. That was the case until my older brother fell out of one of the higher branches and broke his arm. The local board of health, included my father, who was so mad about the bill for my brother's injury, the time he had to come home from work to deal with it, and his own anger. Dad had the board vote whether or not to cut all low branches of trees in the park, so that in the future, kids couldn't climb the trees anymore. The vote happened and the branches got cut. The climbing for me didn't stop. I then taught myself how to shimmy climb up the metal poles of the swing set and high wire walk across the top metal bars. I had no fear. I was unstoppable at the park, or so I thought. One day, I was playing with a child with darker skin than mine, a lot darker. I was unaware of my father's hatred/bigotry. The girl and I were teeter-tottering. I got off my side. The girl got off her side. I was young and unaware that my side was the side that would drop down automatically and drop it did, hard and heavy on my head. I cried and walked home, holding my head. I had a huge goose egg and according to my mom, who is a nurse, a concussion. I was so sleepy. I cried some more when I was told I couldn't go to sleep. My mom explained to my dad what happened when he came home. His expletives were unimaginable toward the little girl I had been playing with. My father said I was never allowed to play with her again. The park brought me my first taste of politics, bigotry, racism, major change and rules that are definitely not fair.