I was in the 2nd grade, living on the Air Force Academy in Colorado Springs when one horrible Sunday I tried to kill my little brother, Matthew. My family was getting ready to go to church and my brother and I were already dressed, just waiting for the rest of the family.
Matthew, who was 3 years younger than I, did something to make me really mad. I don’t even remember what it was – maybe Matthew does but I doubt it – as that wouldn’t be the most eventful thing that happened that day. After Matthew did whatever it was he did to make me mad at him, I decided I was going to pull a big sharp knife out of the kitchen drawer and chase him around the house until I hurt him!
Well, we had these wooden floors all throughout our house and Matthew started running away from me screaming bloody murder and I was screaming too – “I’m going to kill you Matthew!”- packing the long sharp kitchen knife my mother normally cut roast beef with. Everything was happening so fast with Matthew screaming, running around in his socks. Well he was running down the hall with me chasing after him and all the sudden Matthew slipped on the slippery wood floor and went head first into the sharp corner of where 2 walls met. All I could see was blood squirting from Matthews head and then him falling down to the ground, head first. I still remember the way Matthew tumbled to the floor (and it is slow motion in my head even today). I stopped dead in my tracks, still holding the huge knife in my hand.
I thought Matthew must be dead already, with so much blood everywhere. All of the sudden my mom came running to see what happened and she screamed “Don, it’s Matthew – it’s Matthew – he’s bleeding!” (Don is my father.) It was just a horrible scene, horrible. I immediately thought I was either going to jail or my parents would hate me forever – I truly didn’t know which was worse.
Needless to say, Matthew had to go to the hospital that day. Fortunately Matthew didn’t die that day and he only had to get stitches on his forehead. I got a few belt slaps to my little bottom and the only thing good about that day was that we didn’t have to go to church!
I’m still reminded about what I did every time I look at my brother. Even now at 50 – he still has a scar on his forehead – scars from that wild Sunday on the Air Force Academy in Colorado Springs!