When I was 8 we had a basketball hoop mounted over our garage door, which was framed by concrete. I didn't have a basketball, I only had a somewhat flat soccer ball. And one night after dinner I decided to go out back and play a made up game where I would shoot the ball and if it went in the hoop I would have to run under and catch it before it hit the ground. And if I made a shot, the next one I would have to shoot from further back.

So after making a few close ones, I got further back and shot and it went in. So I ran as fast as I could to try and catch it before it hit the ground, but this time my momentum from being so far back carried me head-first straight into one of the concrete corners framing the garage door.

I staggered back for a second, stunned, but not really feeling a lot of pain. Then I ran my hand through my forehead and hair, and came back with a hand covered in blood. That's when the crying and screaming began.

I ran to my mom inside, crying "I hurt my head!" My mom said "I'm sure you're okay, let's take a look." She later said that she brushed my hair aside and could see "into my head". She then said to me as calmly as possible, "Oh, I don't think we have a band-aid for that, let's go to the hospital for one, okay?" Years later she told me that inside she was telling herself "Don't throw up, don't pass out."

So we piled into the car to go to the emergency room, me in the back seat holding an icepack over my forehead. Meanwhile, for some reason at that age I thought that if you had a head wound and bled out of your head, your intelligence would leak out with it. So during the whole car ride I was doing math in my head to make sure I still knew it--"Two and two is four, four and four is eight, eight and eight is sixteeen..."

So now I have a white Harry Potter type scar on the corner of my forehead, but of course if anyone asks I tell them I got it saving a person from a knife attack. Hhhheheheh.