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Yesterday while I was in the serious zone writing about George Floyd, police brutality, and how weird it is we don't have a word for negative anniversaries, I was thrown slightly off course when I got a text from my mom.
I guess she was going through some old documents and found an accident report for an incident on September 12th, 1995, when I was just 44 months old. To put how long ago that was into perspective, just three days earlier, the Sony Playstation was released in North America (we're now on PS5). Seeing something dated that far back regarding yours truly fucked me up for a second. Obviously, I know I was alive, but I can remember like at BEST 8% of my life before 2001. There's just something about seeing a document about a specific moment in my life that I have zero recollection of. I used to think playing through a concussion my sophomore year and repressing years of emotional trauma (lol) were to blame for my awful selective memory, but now there's a possibility my brain was damaged due to a violent act that I was on the receiving end of. Part of that 8ish% I remember is using a typewriter to type my "how-to" essay (on how to Pogo Stick) in like 3rd or 4th grade, so I think it's safe to assume that Day Care Centers in 1995 Rhode Island were still using those as well. I doubt a place with cots also had a computer with word processing capabilities. Check out this font; it's like a "create mode" IG story came to life! 
Holy shit, there is a lot to unpack. But, I have a handful of takeaways.
I've known that I'm a fucking weirdo for a WHILE; I mean, who else is making memes like this?
But I guess I've been a documented weirdo since at least the mid-90s. Sick! I never stood a chance at being normal. I know interacting with girls has never been my swag (as much as I'd like it to be), but ya boi was grownlin' at bitches before he knew how to read. It's a miracle I don't own ferrets.
I need to know if this was my first instance of growling. I feel like if this were something I was doing on the reg, it would've been addressed in the report. Getting bashed in the head with a boulder cannot help for cognitive development. I love how Kate Banks started writing the name of the girl who PEGGED my upper cheek with a 1/2 to 3/4 inch in circumference rock, then just crossed it out and kept going. 90s manilla paper wasn't cheap! 
My handwriting analysis skills tell me this lady 100% wrote "3/4 in around" then wanted to undersell how big the rock was to not worry my parents by adding parentheses and "1/2" because it makes zero sense to use parentheses in that situation. Also, what happened when she was writing cheek? Did she think it was three Es?
I've been known to let a sentence run on for longer than FDR's presidency, but I am super confused by this next part.
Did I hold the ice pack until nap time, then the nurse held it for a 1/2 hr, or was I just being extra and the nurse held the ice pack the whole time? Knowing me, I'd say the latter is -250 on the money line. However, in the margin, it looks like it says, "We watched him for signs of a head injury," which worries if they did let me go to sleep. Again, not ideal for a growing boy. I was about to say whatever this nurse was making, she deserves more for holding that ice pack for so long, but now I'm not so sure.
The least shocking part of the entire document: 
Of course my dad didn't pick up. Probably out there being too busy providing for his family to care about their well being. Classic 90s dad. If he did he would've definitely taken the side of the crossed out girl since I was being a weird little fuck. Also, I know I'm not exactly a wordsmith with my blogs but what kind of sentence is "The girl who threw the rock was talked to and sat away from the children for a while." Was the term timeout invented in 1996? Was she trying to hit a word count? "Was talked to?"
I already tried to look up Kate Banks on Facebook to get more information but considering that's a super generic name, and we're approaching the 26th "anniversary" of this stoning; I'm guessing she's either married and/or dead. If you know of any 28-30-year-old women from southern Rhode Island that had/has a cannon, please reach out to her so we can get reconnected. This sounds like the makings of a great how I met your mother/missed connection story.
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