"Stitches"

Here's a good one. My dad seems to have this idea that sickness and injury don't really exist. When I was a kid, it really took a lot for me and my siblings to convince my dad that something was wrong, physically or emotionally. In fact, I got a special attendance award at my elementary school in 6th grade for not missing a single day of school, ever, for 7 years straight. I wasn't incredibly healthy or anything, it was just that whenever I was sick, my parents still made me go to school. Luckily, on some of those occasions I would throw up or just be so ill that the nurse would call my parents and make them take me home. This anecdote best portrays my dad's mentalities on health when I was younger. 

When I was in fourth or fifth grade I used to climb over this fence in our back yard to get to the woods behind our house. I always used to dig around and find neat things back there. There was this creepy time I even found what seemed to be a tiny grave stone. I also found a dinosaur egg back there, but that'll be a different story. The fence I used to climb over was an incredibly old and rusty wire fence with sharp bits at the top and it sagged and swung back and forth whenever I climbed it. On one occasion when I was climbing it with my brother it bent backwards and I slipped and cut a big, deep gash in my stomach on the right side. My brother ran and got my dad and he took me inside. My gash was extremely painful and very bloody. It needed stitches badly. So my dad cleaned the cut with water and paper towels (no neosporin) and stitched it up... with band-aids. He must have used six or seven band-aids and stuck them going horizontally right up my cut. And then he told me off for climbing that fence.

I still have a nasty scar from that experience; a permanent reminder not to climb rusty fences, and to never consult my dad on any health issues.