Late September 2018, I was ten and in the first month of my first year of middle school. Being fresh out of 4th grade my friends and I were willing to do a lot to prove we belonged in middle school. Every day my friends and I would spend all of our time on the swings during recess. My friends and I were full of youthful bravado on the playground, so when my friends dared me to launch myself off the swing as high as I could, I definitely took it under consideration. 

At first, I was skeptical as it was football season, and injuring myself would not go over well with one of my coaches who was also my dad. But, the pressure clouded my thoughts. My friends kept daring me and applying the pressure until I eventually started pumping my legs back and forth more and more until I was higher than the swingset itself. As the swing made its creaky noise I debated whether jumping was worth it. I would be risking a lot but, before I knew it my hands released the rusty chains and my body was rotating in midair. Seconds felt a lot longer in the air, but eventually, I felt myself hit the ground. But I didn't land on my feet, I landed on my knees and braced myself with my thumbs. I heard a loud crack and I looked at my thumb bent the wrong way. I felt pain shooting through my thumb and anxiety running through my body. My friends laughed because of my pathetic fall. I could only think about my parent’s reaction and how this might affect my football season. I sat through the rest of the school day holding my thumb and thinking about the doctor's office. 

I finally got home and walked through the door to see my mom standing in the kitchen. I walked toward her and said, “Can we go to the doctor's office?”

She replied, “Why sweetie?”

I knew she wouldn't be calling me sweetie after I told her why. I tell her, “I broke my thumb.”

“How!” she asks. 

I hesitated to tell her. But, I squeaked out, “Jumping off the swing.”

She was speechless. All she said was, “Get in the car.”

The car ride was awkward; the silence was loud. I knew what my mom was thinking. 

We got to the doctor’s office and headed over to the waiting area. My name was called and we walked into the room and talked about the situation. 

My mom asked, “Why would you jump off the swing?”

I replied, “I don't know, my friends told me to.” 

The doctor walked into the room and asked, “So, what's going on?" He shook his head after I told him. He felt around my hand and gave us the news. Broken, that word was rattling in my head as I thought of the stupid mistake I made. I knew my friends had pressured me into something stupid. The doctor took the plaster out and started wrapping my hand and thumb. The cast slowly hardened, and I asked him how long until I could play football again.

 He responded with, “Two to three weeks.”

I showed up to practice that night with my purple cast and everyone asked what happened. I told them and everyone laughed except for my dad who kept a straight face. Those three weeks were not enjoyable. The rest of that year I didn't go on the swings, I didn't break any more bones, and I didn't let my friends pressure me into something.