I guess you can say I had a “self inflicted firearms wound.” Well, not really. Read on…
My dad collected antiques when I was a kid. One of his “treasures” was an authentic cannonball. This thing was as big as a bowling ball and weighed 80 lbs. One day, when I was about 12 years old, I rolled the cannonball outside to show it to someone. To prove how “strong” I was, I picked it up to waist level. I then proceeded to put it back down.
Well, I set it down too fast. My left hand’s pinky finger got caught between the 80 lb. cannonball and concrete driveway. Smush. My pinky looked like a banana after being run over by a car. Flesh and blood was everywhere, and the bone was sticking out. The rest is predictable… went to the hospital, got it operated on (skin graft), etc.
Today, the pinky is still there, but it’s about ½ an inch shorter than my other pinky. And there’s only one joint instead of two. The bonus is that it’s a neat conversation piece. The bummer is that I like to mess around with the bass guitar every-now-and-then, and I can’t stretch more than about 5 frets.
And oh, the cannonball… my dad gave it to me about 12 years ago. It’s sitting on our living room floor, in the corner.