When I Was A Kid
I would collect various insects in jars. I loved being with my dad at night, catching whatever bug it may be and then staring at it as it crawled around in the jar. We did that almost every night. Sometimes I would take the bug filled jars to school. I went to private school, so they didn’t care to much. But on this one occasion I had brought a jar with a couple different bugs in it. I was walking to my next class when I suddenly tripped on the side walk. I went crashing down face first into the cement. The shattering of glass fills my ears and I look down. My hands had blood all over them from the glass. I don’t remember any pain, but they must have been pretty cut up. Then I look at the remains at the once was jar. In between the glass I saw the bugs. All of them were dead. I then began to cry as a teacher picked me up from the ground to be taken inside. I no longer cared about my wounds. I only cared about the bugs that had just died due to my mistake. I wonder if I blamed myself. I hope at some point along the line I realized that accidents happen, and lives end. I don’t know why I suddenly remember this from my childhood. But I’m very grateful I did.
