I looked up and saw my fate, knowing the worst was about to come. After hitting the wall, I regained consciousness with my dad kneeling beside me.

Every scar has a story. This is my story.

When I was 5 years old; I got a kid-sized basketball hoop for my birthday. I was having a lot of fun playing with my new toy.

My parents wanted me to burn my energy-filled body with something healthy and constructive for me to play with. That is until the evening before picture day at school, when my opinion on playing sports inside would change forever.

I took a shot from medium range. The ball hit the top of the rim after bouncing off the backboard. It fluttered away like angels in the sky. I started to pursue the ball with the intent to snatch it quickly before it went into my dad’s office. As I went to grab it, I noticed a large object getting closer to me.

Glancing upward, I was alarmed by the corner of the brick wall. My reaction was to make an immediate stop, but I was bent down racing after the ball and I went head over heels into the wall. My forehead rebounded off of the wall, and I was out cold before hitting the ground. The next thing I saw was my dad kneeling over me calling to my mother.

I lay motionless for a while on my back until I could see fresh blood running down the side of my nose. I sat up trying to resist the sharp pain on the right side of my forehead. My father gave me a couple of paper towels for me to press against the blood-soaked wound.

After a minute or so; I took the paper towel off of my forehead. I looked at it and remained speechless.

Never before had I seen so much blood on one thing. It looked like someone had spilled a bowl of tomato soup all over a paper towel, only there were little bits of skin on the paper towel as well.

The blood was a bold red color like that on a stop sign. It took a few more paper towels to stop the bleeding. I finally rose to my feet and started to walk upstairs with the irritating pain in my head like that of a bad headache.

When I got upstairs, my mother told me to relax, close my eyes and get ready. I closed my eyes and prepared myself.

She then sprayed what must have been half a can of disinfectant for injuries to my forehead. The searing pain caused me to lose control my actions. I jumped, screamed and sprinted in pain.

The worst part about getting an injury is the disinfecting process, which ironically can cause more pain than the injury did to begin with.

The next day in school, pictures were taken.

If I have kids who want to play sports inside the house, my immediate response would be to take it outside. If youngsters ask why, I will simply tell them about my forehead scar.