I’m from a small town, Edna. TX. I was about seven or eight years old but not your average seven/eight-year-old. I was obsessed with shiny objects, mostly scissors. Little did I know my obsession with scissors would become tragic. I was a troubled child so something had to happen to me in order for me to get the idea that it was bad. When it comes to parenting, the first thing that comes to mind about scissors is to not run with them because they are not a toy and they can seriously hurt you. Boy, should I have listened when my parents told me not to run with scissors. I am lucky to be alive.
It all started one sunny afternoon right after I got home from school. I had gone to my room to do my homework. At such a young age, I tended to get easily distracted and bored, so I
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I felt as if I belonged on an episode of “I Shouldn’t Be Alive”. The scissors could have easily stabbed my shoulder or face but the fact that it simply glided through my fingers made me feel lucky that nothing major happened. As for me getting in trouble by my mother, she waited till my father came home to discuss my punishment. At that time, I was an only child and did not have as many friends so I imagined my punishment not too bad. Later that night my parents came in my room and explained to me that running with scissor is not safe and out of the countless times they have mentioned not to I still did it. They took my arts and crafts and told me once I get home from school I must hand them my scissors and must do any scissors work on the kitchen table.
In conclusion, my experience with running with scissors made me realize (at that age) they are not toys and should be used properly and safely. Being the troubled child I was back then since my scissor accident I never ran with any sharp or shinny object again. As I got older I realized how ignorant that was of me to run with scissors. Months later after my incident