Speechwriting: Corporate, Weddings, Retirement

11/27/10

Barack Obama and I Have Something in Common: 12 Stitches

Paricon Winter Lightning Sled (3-Pack)12 stitches. Now that he has gotten a taste of good ol' fashioned, "let's take it to the gym, punk" bloodwork, maybe North Korea will be a little less likely to taunt him. Of course, PETA is upset, but that's what they do, but this is about the stitches, not the silly talk show politicking both sides will try to find in this.

Me, I had 12 stitches too.

Johnny Peterson's backyard. The house behind him, actually. They were still building it. Big hill -- the dirt from the basement. Winter. Mid-December. Snow. Sledding.

I was in first grade. Johnny lived maybe two blocks down the street. The snow was hard, slick and cold. Sleds were hard to come by, so we slid down on our backs. Big hill, long ride. All good.

My jacket was open, unzipped when I went down on my stomach. A chunk of metal was sticking out about halfway to the bottom. I was six.

The metal sliced my on my right side. Blood flowed out of me like juice from a freshly cut tomato. My white t-shirt no longer was white. I ran the quarter mile or so up Meade Avenue, leaving my bike behind.

Palmers Cocoa Butter Massage Stretch Mark Cream 4.4 oz.Got home. My mom, suffering from conjunctivitis in both eyes couldn't drive me. Mrs. Kirk next door took me to Palos Hospital where I was stitched up. No anesthesia. Not the smaller filament President Obama was lucky enough to have. I screamed as they tried to hold me down. Until then, I was a small, weak boy. That night, I had the power of 10 steroid-filled NFL linemen.

On my way home, as my mom and dad drove me, they took me to McDonalds. Back then, before they changed their recipes, McDonald's French Fries were still the best on the planet. My parents asked me where I wanted to go. Mind you, at six years old on the edge of the suburbs (followed by woods and farms a mile away), I only knew about McDonalds and Chicken Unlimited (what KFC wants to taste like).

I stayed home a couple days, applying cocoa butter to my wound. They took the stitches out sometime later, and I showed my battle scars to my classmates.

That week I was a hero.

So, Mr. President, try cocoa butter. It smells nice too.
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