Both Mom and Dad had warned me to be careful as I sprinted around my Aunt and Uncle’s home on Cecil Avenue. I was wearing a brand new pair of spiked shoes, my first pair ever.

I literally felt like I was flying as I zipped around one corner of the home to

However my euphoria was short-lived as Marcy walked into my path. We nearly collided, but because I was so quick, I managed to side step her before we made full contact.

As I headed for the next corner, I heard her scream. The pitch in her young voice caused me to stop and trot back to where she was now sitting.

She was holding her foot and traces of blood appeared from around her fingers. I nearly fell down racing across the cement patio to get help.

Dad was the first to get to Marcy.

He looked at her foot and declared that I must have stepped on her and drove a spike through her skin. He and Mom loaded Marcy up and took her over to Doc Gobles so he could stitch up the puncture wounds.

They were gone a little over an hour. By the time they arrived I was back in my regular tennis shoes and had placed the spiked racing shoes back in their box.

I put them in the back of our station wagon.

When they returned I told my parents that I didn’t want the shoes anymore and that I didn’t deserve them. It took a week for me to stop moping
and finally put them on again.

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