My Dad has long been an entrepreneur and small business owner.  As such, he typically hired his kids to work for him.  That included Mark and I.  He also used our very large garage as his shop, on and off.

Mark and I were helping my Dad in the garage one day when this happened.  I was probably 8 or 9.  We were told to pick up a thick, heavy piece of steel and move it.  It was thick… and heavy!  I don’t know what that means for 8 or 9 year olds, but I know both Mark and I struggled to get it up.  As we were walking across the garage, Mark’s grip started to slip.  He started to let it down, forcing me to do the same, but before either of us could put it down, Mark dropped his side.  Unable to hold it up myself, the piece of steel crashed to the ground with my middle finger on my left hand underneath it.  It smashed the tip of my finger bad enough that the bone was clearly visible and a large flap of skin was loose.  I ended up getting stitches.  I still have a nasty scar on that finger and the scar is sensitive.  You can see my scar in this photo:

scar traced so you can see it

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