Posted by: Ms. Crackers | November 22, 2008

{ assignment #11 }


I was young; probably in the 4th or 5th grade (maybe, at most).  My father, who was working as a Staff Sargeant at the police station at the time, was working and had brought Sister Crackers and I to the station to work on my science project.  I was doing mine on fingerprinting.

I had some large images of fingerprints and some printed information ready to go on my project board, as well as copies of my own fingerprints that we had done up right there at the station.  Father Crackers had gone downstairs to the office and Sister Crackers and I were preparing to put together the cardboard display.

I don’t remember the specifics, but I do know we had one of those hard-core box tapers and were using it to put things together.  Somehow, and I’m sure it was unintentional, Sister Crackers managed to slice my left wrist with the thing, and I do remember the teeth dragging on my skin.  It started bleeding immediately.

Being all of 10 or so, I knew that people killed themselves by cutting their wrists, and I was convinced I was about to die.  I went screaming bloody murder down the stairs and into the police station – and I probably had little more than a scratch of a cut on my arm.  I don’t remember Sister Crackers participating in this at all, so she must have been hiding upstairs.

I don’t remember getting bandaged up, or really anything after the cut itself.  The scar is jagged, rough; it’s not a clean cut, and it is obviously unintentional.  I laugh when I think about it, how it might look to some people if they saw it off-hand – although you can barely see it, the reminder of the time when my sister tried to slice my wrist open is still there.

{ learning to love you more }



  1. It never occurred to me that people might think you tried to off yourself. That amuses me and I’m not sure why.

    The only memory I have of this, at all, is what the tape thing looked like. Don’t remember being there, why we were there, what happened after, any of it. When I think about it, I just get this seven year old eye’s view of the damn tape dispenser.

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