My dad grew up with a brother 2 years and 1 day younger than him. At some point in their childhood (I think when he was about 8 or 10), Tim had to have braces put on his legs for about 2 years. Something to do with the muscles in his legs. So, for those two years he had to be very careful and missed out on a lot of sports, etc. So, finally, it was time to take the braces off. That afternoon, he and my dad and a bunch of neighborhood kids played baseball in the front yard. Somehow, the ball ended up on the roof.
"I'll go get it!" Tim volunteered.
So, he climbed up to the roof, retrieved the ball, and said "Ken, throw me the bat. I'm gonna see how far I can hit it from up here."
So, my dad throws the bat at (I mean to) his brother, hits him with it, and knocks him off the roof.
"Ow! Ow! You broke my leg! You broke my leg!!!!" Tim bawled.
"I did not. Quit bein' such a stinkin' baby."
"Get mama! Tell her you broke my leg!"
"I'm not tellin' her I broke your leg! She'll whip the tarnation out of me!"
"Go get mama. Oh, you broke my leg, you broke my leg!"
Sure enough, Tim's leg was broken. Two years in metal braces followed by 6-8 weeks in a plaster cast. And my father lived to tell about it. :)
Poor Tim. My father broke one of his younger brother's arms when he slammed a door and the brother reached out to stop it. Apparently my dad was slamming the door really, really hard. (He didn't close it on his arm hi hand just went out to stop, like in the middle of the door)
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