I know she lived nearby, on the same side of the street a house or two down from our apartment in Chicago. I had spent some time playing on her porch and thought she was an okay person, fun to spend time with. She had better toys than I had, or at least different toys, which made them seem better.
I was out in the little yard area in front of the building messing around with my bicycle. I had turned it upside down and was turning one of the pedals by hand to see how fast I could get the rear wheel to spin. I found that I could get that wheel really moving. Fun stuff, that. The little girl next door came over and was watching me spin that wheel. I guess she found it interesting, too. So interesting that she felt she needed to touch the rapidly spinning machinery.
I didn't see it happen, but she somehow got the tip of her finger too close to the moving parts. Whatever she touched, the chain, the spokes, the sprocket, I had no idea, but the next thing I knew she was running home screaming. What I did know was that I was in trouble. Something I was doing had caused someone else to get hurt. I was horrified, of course, and confused. I knew it was my fault, but I wasn't sure why. Everyone seemed sure that it was my fault.
I was told later that the little girl had suffered a severed fingertip. I wondered what it looked like, but I never got to see it. I searched the grass in the yard to see if I could find the little fingertip, but I never did. I don't suppose it was ever there. My mom and dad told me that the little girl's parents had sued us for her medical bills. I wasn't sure what that meant, but it was said in such a way that I knew it was a bad thing. I got the impression that the little girl's parents didn't like us anymore. I was forbidden to play with her. After that, I was afraid to even walk by her house. I went so far as to go around the block in the other direction just to avoid doing so. It was a case of unintended consequences.
I wish I could tell you that I learned something useful from that incident, a life lesson that I could carry with me from that point on. All I learned was that I needed to avoid going near that house up the street or I'd probably get in even more trouble. I haven't found that avoiding things is a very workable way to live. Avoidance only shrinks your world into a smaller and smaller area until you are unable to move at all for fear of causing someone else pain. It's not a good way to live, but for awhile my world got a little smaller.
I didn't learn much about the safety in the play-place until I was much older and my toys where much more dangerous. I'm sure I got the usual warnings about looking both ways before crossing the street, not running with scissors and not playing with matches, but I wasn't really listening. That sort of advice was for other people. I didn't mind getting a cut finger or a skinned knee or a bump on the head, I figured all that minor damage was just part of the job of being a kid. Yes, I got my share of bandages and iodine and kisses to make it better from my mom, but having a cool-looking Band-aid made the minor injury worth the pain, and if you had a good story to tell about how you got hurt it was perfect. I could flash my bandaged finger and someone would ask what had happened. They were interested in me for a moment and I got to talk to someone who was actually listening. It was a lot better than the usual string of orders to do this and that, since I actually got to talk for a change. Mostly, though, I just thought Band-Aids were cool. I still do.
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