Please tell me there should be a winking smiley after this one. 13 YEARS!?!
Now me:
Age 5 - Running in the patio (the floor was cement, with a 1/4 inch carpet that absorbed water). It was slick and I slipped, taking a chunk out of my chin. Less than a dozen stitches were needed.
Age 6 - Almost fell out of the Cadillac. Thank G-d for seatbelts.
Ages 7-12 - Broke 4 fingers, mostly on slides and car doors.
Age 12 - Flipped over my bike. I went headfirst into the ground, but the helmet saved me some trouble.
Age 14 - Skinned my hands on the composite track. No stitches.
The silliest injury must have been when I was leaning over from the ladder near the edge of the top of my sis & I’s bunk bed. We had this very large, wooden, heavy dresser and my clothes were in the top drawers. I had the top drawer open and leaned over to get something out of it, when I slipped and practically fell into the dresser drawer, falling to the floor, with this large 6’ tall wooden dresser to come tumbling down on top of me. Miraculously, I came out unscathed!
The silliest injury must have been when I was leaning over from the ladder near the edge of the top of my sis & I’s bunk bed. We had this very large, wooden, heavy dresser and my clothes were in the top drawers. I had the top drawer open and leaned over to get something out of it, when I slipped and practically fell into the dresser drawer, falling to the floor, with this large 6’ tall wooden dresser to come tumbling down on top of me. Miraculously, I came out unscathed!
That, and the time when I was out in the backyard, playing with the dog. I threw a stick for her, then looked up to see where it had was going to land - and it landed in my eye. Yes, ploop right smack onto my eyeball. Got a nice big scratch and had to wear a patch for a week. I didn’t have to go to school because I was already teased enough. SO instead I spent my week pretending to be a pirate. I think I was 13. 
When I was about 2 years old, I stuck my finger into the door hinge. My mum didn’t see me do this, and proceeded to close the door. I just held up my finger, said “Look, mummy” and she nearly passed out. The top of my index finger was hanging from a piece of skin, and is still misshapen to this day.
Aound the same time, I was at the top of the stairs while my mother was vacuuming at the bottom. I start to walk down the stairs, trip on the first step, and end up tumbling all the way down to the bottom. Landed on the vacuum and trashed it, but got up and walked away unscathed.
Then there was my fifth birthday party. I walk into the lounge where the fun and games are going on, fall over backwards, and end up going head-first into a glass display cabinet. Blood and glass everywhere, and I was screaming blue murder, but luckily no stitches, and no scars. I remember that day vividly.
Had a couple of mishaps at school, too. The time some kids were using the lid from a paint bucket as a frisbee in the middle of the art room, and it landed in my face and cut the surface of my eyeball open. That REALLY hurt. Then there was the time I cut my finger open on a broken ceramic jug in Home Ec class. Blood pouring out everywhere, my teacher bundled me into her car and drove me to the hospital with a dish towel around my finger. The towel was saturated with blood by the time we arrived, but all that was needed was a couple of butterfly stitches. Another scar for the collection!
I once got something stuck in my eye for a week before it finally flushed itself out. I now have a scar on my eye, so that eye is much blinder than the other.
I neglected to brake while making the turn into my driveway on my ten-speed, preferring to imagine myself as a motocross racer and do a skid-turn. Not being a professional, I overskidded and ended up sprawling across the gravel drive. My entire knee was bloody hamburger with bits of rock in it. We didn’t get one piece out because it was stuck in too far and I was too chicken to let Mom get at it with the tweezers.
I broke my wrist roller-skating in fourth grade. I got up immediately, grabbed the wrist and set the bone. My older sister (16 at the time) had come to pick me up from the rink, and she was mad at me for continually crying. Eventually she told me she’d buy me a bag of candy at the penny store if I’d stop crying, because she knew Mom would think my crying was her fault. So she did, and I did, and we didn’t go to the hospital until two hours after I got home, when Mom noticed that I wouldn’t move my left arm and kept cradling my wrist.
In junior high, I went roller-skating every weekend (it was the “in” thing to do). Once, I was out skating when one of my friends pushed me from behind, my feet went faster than I did, and I ended up flat on my back and unconscious for about ten seconds.
Both of these are from around age 8.
First … we stored our bicycles in the shed of our landlord, where he also stored all his power tools and woodworking equipment. I went into this shed barefoot to retrieve my bike. Somehow I knocked loose a blade for a circular saw. It landed on my heel, slicing off a piece as neat as you please. Lots of blood.
Second … riding self-same bicycle down the community driveway. (There were three or four houses that shared the biggest part of this gravel driveway.) As I was headed toward the road, one of our neighbors pulled into the driveway. In order to get out of his way, I wobbled my bike over to the side a little more quickly than I intended, and grabbed the top of the chainlink fence to steady myself. That’s right – the TOP of a chainlink fence in the early 80s. One of the little sticky-up pieces went right through my hand. No stitches, though.
It’s a wonder any of us survived childhood.
Age 7: 2nd degree burn from roasted marshmallow.
Age 12: fell off bicycle while wearing tank top, shorts, and no shoes. Skinned big toe, knee & shoulder. Went home and into the bathtub.
Age 16 or so: dripped hot solder onto bare leg while trying to fix shortwave radio.
woke up one morning to find dried blood on thigh and sheet. Near as I can figure, while I was getting into bed, I scraped my leg on the eraser end of a pencil which was missing the eraser. Mom said I should have rinsed the stain on the sheet before it set. Hell, I had no idea it was even there until I got up!
“Hey, gang! Let’s put on a show!!” It seemed like a good idea at the time, and Vera’s mom said we could hold our performance in her yard, so we were in her basement rehearsing (couldn’t risk any of the neighbors getting a sneak preview.) I was “doing ballet” in a borrowed tutu, and my best friend, Agnes, was working on a twirling routine with my baton. Back in those days, one used a baton as a cane, so the metal ALWAYS poked thru the rubber ends. The critical moment was when I chose to execute a grand jete’ the very moment when Agnes was practicing a toss. The baton end and my eye met in mid-flight. Copious quantites of blood and loud wailing followed. Fortunately, I was actually hit in the eyebrow, so my vision was fine, and in the proud tradition, the show went on.
Less spectacular was the time I was riding a boy’s bike and I crashed, coming down on the evil bar just before eating a chunk of handlebar.
Then there’s the scar on my right knee from a 5th grade dodge-ball game. I’d been hit out, so I was leaving the field when someone threw the ball again, catching me off guard. I landed hard on a small rock - prolly should have had stitches, but the school nurse just stuck a bandaid on it and sent me back to class.
Considering some of the tales here, I got off easy…
Here are just a few mishaps from birth to age 10…My mom jokes that with four adventurous kids, she was on first-name basis with emergency room personnel.
Age: Eighteen months – Year: 1959 - Mom on way to beauty parlor in car – me in passenger seat – lean on door handle somehow – out I go onto gravel road at 35 miles an hour. Remarkably, only a few nasty scrapes and bruises – still have faint scars. (Thankfully, I was too young to remember this!).
Age four yrs: Easter Sunday – running up brick steps – fall and gash forehead wide open – profuse bleeding all over my brand new Sunday suit. 15 or so stitches.
Eight yrs old: Our house was near horse farm. Riding my pony too fast out in the boonies a couple miles from home – playing “Lone Ranger” – pony steps in hole – I go over the top – arm smashed into boulder – broke in “V” shape. Had to lead pony back two miles back to barn. Horrified mom drives me to emergency room. Still remember using kitchen-ware to quell agonizing itching caused by plaster cast that summer.
Nine years old: Brother chasing me through house – I run into bathroom – trip over knee high counter-door, then fall onto next counter-door – cuts my throat open to nearly expose windpipe. Babysitter struck numb with fear. Finally manages to reach Dad & mom for quick trip to hospital – several stitches – still have small scar.
Ten years old: Family picnic – I’m folding up a lawn-chair – finger caught in sharp metal joint – cuts off half-tip of my index finger. Later that day, recovering from stitches/heavily bandaged finger, my two sisters approach with small box and say they’ve brought me a present to ease my pain. Inside…the shriveled tip of my finger. What a scream, huh?
Realized I forgot a couple:
Age 7 or so: was mad at one of my brothers and tried to slam the storm door on my way out. Put my arm through the glass.
Age 13 or so: nearly cut off a fingertip while fooling around with a hatchet.