1988, they year I broke my arm trying to do tricks on my bike in the road!

Luckily, I've only broken one bone in my life and it was in 1988, the year we moved from Rosemount to Lakeville.  We only moved about 2 miles down the road but it was a different school district and in my 8 year-old mind, it might as well have been 200 miles.  To say I was devistated about moving to this far-away land was an understatement.  In an attempt to distract me and make me feel better, my parents bought me a new bike.  A big-girl bike!  And we moved into a pretty new neighborhood, I think we were the 3rd or 4th house to be built.  There was a family moving in two houses up the street from mine and I was pretty sure I had seen a boy my age helping move furniture so I decided to investigate.  That means I rode my shiny new lilac Schwin ten-speed bicycle back and forth in front of his house, all day long.  I tried to do tricks on my bike, I tried to ride my bike fast and look cool, I tried to look like I didn't notice him or care that he was moving into the neighborhood, I wore bright pink plastic sunglasses as I sped by his house so that he wouldn't know how hard I was staring.  It was summer, there was no school or anything else to do, so I did this for probably four days straight.  I was determined to make him notice me so that I could act like I didn't notice him and this would intrigue him.  It's crazy how an eight-year old girl's mind works.  But on the fourth day I was really becoming bored of all this riding back and forth like a child-stalker, so I started to get lazy with my antics.  I was becoming distracted by birds in the sky and what I though was the far-away jingle of the Ice Cream Man.  And while I wasn't paying close enough attention to what I was doing, I rode over the top of a drain and my front bike tire became lodged in the grate and sent be flying over the top of the handle bars, sprawling into the street.  I loooked up in horror and saw him staring out the window at me.  He didn't point and laught  but he didn't run to my rescue, either.  He just sat there with a blank expression, staring at me laying in the middle of the road.  I grabbed my bike and ran home as fast as I could, not noticing that my left arm had a funny giant lump in the middle of it and it felt like it was disconnected from the rest of my body.  I went straight upstairs and got in the bathtub and tried to scrub all the humiliation and shame off me before anyone else noticed it.  I told my mom that my arm felt funny.  She took me to the ER that night and sure enought, it was a displaced fracture of my radius.  The doctor had to wrench it back into place and slapped a cast on it for the next 8 weeks.  I chose to get a black cast.  I was pissed.  This was all his fault for not noticing me on day one or two!  I decided I would hate him forever!  Forever turned out to be only four or five years because his family moved away just as I was turning thirteen.  Thank goodness, I hate to think of all the evil ways I would get back at him as a crazy nut-bag teenager.  He's probably a brain surgeon or a lawyer these days.  I wish I remembered his name.