A Rose By Any Other Blame

(I am twelve, waiting outside for my dad and my sister to finish up with something in the garage. We have a pretty steep driveway with big rocks dividing where we park our cars from the slanted rose bush gardens. I am walking across these rocks when I lose my footing, and feel myself lose my balance. Although I try, I know I am going to fall into the rose bush, so I just put my hands up to my face to protect myself. When I fall, I scrape my chin up pretty bad and starting crying from the thorns. I call out for help. As I try to climb back out, my sister and my dad just looking at me, confused.)

Me: “Why didn’t you help me?”

Dad: “There wasn’t a lot we could do to stop it.”

(This is when I start crying more.)

Dad: “Sorry, sweetie. I’ll get you a bandaid!”

Sister: “Hey, [My Name], you know, it’s probably not a good idea to go diving into the rose bush.”

(I was hurt because it wasn’t like I did it on purpose, but then they explained to me what they saw from their angle. Apparently, they saw me walking, then I turned toward the rose bush, raised up my hands, and did a perfect dive off the rocks. So, from their angle it looked liked I purposely dove off the rocks. To this day, they still bring up my short-lived “rock diving” career.)