Oh gawd.
When I was a kid - like 1st or 2nd grade'ish - I would not and could not handle monkey bars and such like normal kids. I blame my mother. She never allowed me to play rough and such. She was always afraid I was going to hurt myself, etc. So she instilled that fear in me.
So one day out at recess, all my friends and such were playing on the opposite side of the playground. I got a wild hair up my ass and decided I was going to get on top of those monkey bars all by myself. Sloooooowly but surely, I did it! And I sat there all happy and proud and looked all around, scared to death I was going to fall. And sure enough, a gust of wind came and I fucking fell.
All I remember really is my teacher trying to rush me into the bathroom. I was bawling crying. Caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror and my mouth was covered with blood. She was trying to get me to rinse out my mouth and all. I don't remember much after that. But I know Mom came and got me.
I lost 1 tooth that day. 'Principal Simpson' found it in the dirt afterwards. And I never, ever got on those damn monkey bars again.
Stoopid monkey bars.
