Museum of childhood horrors

I had a flash back to one of the stupidest things I did as a child. It was not a memory I particularly wanted to think about. I might have been four, maybe five, when I it happened. I pressed my hands into the rough wooden fence and slid my hands about a foot, that was when I pulled my hands away because they hurt.

Yeah. I was not the most intelligent child. I remember running home crying. My father plopped me down into a chair and attacked my hands with tweezers and a pocket knife. It took over two hours to get most of the splinters out. Two hours of sitting in a chair while my father dug into my hands with sharp objects. He spent the entire time lecturing me. It went something like this:

Daddy: "What were you thinking?"
Me: "I don't know."
Daddy: "Well, why did you do it?"
Me: "I don't know."
Daddy: "Didn't you realize it would hurt?"
Me: "Yes."
Daddy: "Then why did you do it?"
Me: "I don't know."
Daddy: "Did you want to get hurt?"
Me: "No."
Daddy: "Then why did you do it?"
Me: "I don't know."
Daddy: "Did you think it wouldn't give you splinters?"
Me: "No."
Daddy: "Then why did you do that?"
Me: "I don't know."

Brain damage! (shout out to Bill Cosby. I love him.)

Thinking back on it I am still not sure why I did it. I vaguely remember thinking it wouldn't hurt that badly and that I was tough so it wouldn't matter. Like I said, I was not the most intelligent child. It took me years to be able to walk past a wooden fence without wanting to cry. I still don't like to handle wooden objects, especially wooden cooking spoons (they really freak me out).