Personal Narrative: The Day I Broke My Arm

The day that I broke my arm will be one that I will never forget. I can remember every action and every moment with frame by frame precision in my mind’s eye that led to my arm to be in a cast for weeks.

It was a beautiful September day, year 2010, having just started the 4th grade a month prior. The weather was pleasant, the leaves on the trees were beginning to fall, and more important to me, the football season had just begun.. A new chapter of life had also started for me. I turned 10 two months prior, gaining some responsibility within my family, and started to participate some upper level math assignments. As a kid, I always enjoyed solving problems and having numbers quickly going through my head. It seemed natural to me. The year

I fell backwards, stuck my arm out, and hit the ground hard. I started crying and looked at my hand. It was bent sideways. I knew something was wrong. Everyone from the class came over to look at my arm. Just like a crash on the side of the road, my classmates slowly came to a stop to look at the carnage. Only in this case, I was the wrecked car. The pain from my arm and all of the kids crowding around me made it worse. I dazedly drug myself to stand and maneuver to find my teacher and she sent me to the nurse. Questions were asked, waiting ensued, and finally, the obligatory call to my parents were made. Upon seeing my flightless wiry, they took me to a doctor to have me partake in an x-ray. During the wait at the doctor’s office, my parents didn’t believe it was broken. It was bent and I couldn’t move it, but they still didn’t believe it. Jokingly, they started placing bets of the condition of my arm. The doctor finally took me to an x-ray machine. He took pictures of the top of my arm, then the side, then everywhere else.
It felt like forever. After another 15 minutes, the doctor finally came back with the pictures, and the proof that it was actually broken. You could observe the clear, decisive break streaking across the