Old enough to know better

I don't know why this memory has stuck in my head for so long. I don't think I ever blanked it out completely, although there is very little emotional content in the memory.

It was a warm, sunny day in late spring. I was in the fifth grade. We were playing kickball at recess, and I reached up to catch the ball. I just missed it, and it bent the pinky on my left hand all the way back. It hurt, but most of the time, the pain wears off. But by the end of school, my finger was still hurting, and it had swollen up. I showed it to my mother when I got home, and she took me to the doctor, who said it was sprained and put it in a splint, and said to just be careful and try not to bump the finger or use it too much.

I had an orchestra recital at school in the evening. I played the violin. The piece we were playing was the first time we had to use all four fingers to get the right notes. I practiced enough that I could play, and just didn't use the bow for the notes that required using my pinky.

So, we got home. I guess my mother was stressed out and worried about time, and she'd had to go to the doctor with me instead of working on sewing for a customer that afternoon. Dinner was about ready, and she sent me out to find the younger kids, who were playing, and bring them home. It took me a while to find them, and then I made a mistake. I played with them and their friends for a few minutes before we came home. It was about twenty minutes or half an hour later when we got back.

My mother was furious, and called me into her sewing room. She had a tomato stake, one of the long, thin stakes she used in the garden. She told me to pull down my pants and lean over her sewing table. I reminded her about my sprained pinky, and she said it was my responsibility to make sure I kept it out of the way. She gave me a long, hard spanking. Mostly what I remember is trying not to move my pinky, and not to bump anything on the sewing table.

After that, and dinner, I walked to school by myself. I felt sad, not because of the spanking, but because no one was going to see the recital with me. I knew all of the other kids would have someone there, listening just for them. I cried while I walked to school, but I made sure I was done before I got close. I made myself act like I didn't mind having no one from my family come to watch the recital, and when people asked about it, I just said that my mother didn't have anyone to watch the little kids, and didn't want to bring them all to school in the evening. But my older sister was there, and could have taken care of the kids, or even could have gone to see the recital.

I guess the reason this all stayed in my head was so I could remember that I was old enough to know better. Old enough to not be so foolish as to get hurt and make someone take time to take me to the doctor. Old enough to know to come directly home, even if my mother didn't say that when she sent me out. Old enough to be able to concentrate on protecting a hurt finger and not moving anything on a table while getting spanked. And old enough not to expect someone to come see me play an instrument with a bunch of other ten year olds, all of whom played with the skill of average ten-year-olds, and not musical prodigies.

Not sure who is writing this.