At the age of four most kids feel as if they can do anything and everything. Living on a farm, comes with a load of work, for the adults. I wanted to do the chores they did, but whenever I attempted to, someone would stop me and tell me that I was too young and incapable. It was early in the morning; the sun had not come out. I snuck out of my bedroom and crept toward the chicken coop. The darkness was my cloak and the moonlight was my enemy. It followed me everywhere trying to expose me to the world. The walk seemed endless and I expected at any moment for someone to catch me and some part of me wanted to get caught.
The sun began to peak out of the horizon. I could no longer hide, the light was surrounding me. But it didn’t matter anymore. I had reached my destination. I was thinking that my parents would be so proud of me, because I could do the same chores they did. As I opened the door, I had second thoughts. Peering into the coop I noticed the chickens were all asleep. Thinking it was going to be easy, I took the bag of seeds and filled their bowls. Turning around, I slipped, spilling their food all over the place and landing on top of a pile of eggs. Suddenly one by one they woke up, all of them staring right at me. I got up slowly, backing away. I knew it was too late; it seemed as they knew what I had done. Adrenaline took over my body and I started to sprint toward the door. When I pushed the door open, the sunlight blinded me. I acted like a deer caught in headlights, nowhere to run and not knowing what to do. In a moment of panic, I got the idea of running onto the roof. At that time it was a good plan, believing that chickens were scared of heights; because they were chickens. I reached the staircase. Stumbling, tripping and falling on my way up, finally I was at the top. But they were determined. And my fear of the chickens turned into stupidity. I looked over the edge of the roof, it was not that high up, (for a grownup) but for me it was a nightmare come true. Being more afraid of the chickens than the heights, I closed my eyes and jumped. I remember the breeze that I felt; it relieved me of my sweaty forehead. I blanked out but not before a heard a crack. When I woke up, familiar faces were surrounding me. They were close enough to me that I could smell their breath when they spoke. I began to hear so many questions directed at me but I could not answer; my head was throbbing. I knew nothing at all at that moment; I was never told how long I was out.
I later found out from my family that they returned the chicken back to the coop and cleaned up the mess I made. I was not in trouble for my actions because I had already suffered the consequences. At first I had no idea what my punishment was, until my doctor told me that I broke my head. He predicted that for a month my sensory processing would be off. Meaning that whatever I tasted or saw would be different from everyone else’s and their perception of something would be right. But he explained it as a bruised brain. I was also informed that I was lucky to not have fractured any more bones. Being four years old, I thought that meant I had super powers. I was sent home a week later with medicine that tasted like chocolate.
Everyone had told me that I would never be the same again, but I didn’t care one bit. I was now the only one in my family with a metal plate. I don’t remember why, but I felt pride for what I accomplished. Maybe, it was because I had done something no one else in their right in would do, or maybe it was because from that moment on I was known to be fearless. In the end I never told my family why I was running from the chickens in the first place and I kept it that way. But never again did I step into the chicken coop, ever.