David and the Madrona Tree

 

MADRONA TREE STORY  

Circa 1952 

My brothers and I put 2-3 doctor’s kids through college by our various antics and escapades.  The Madrona Tree experience was one of them. 

I was the oldest of 3 brothers.  We lived in the Englewood section of Coos Bay, Oregon and my parents property extended down to a body of water called Coalbank Slough, equivalent to a Southern Bayous.  The backyard – where my brothers and I played – was about 150 feet or so from the back of the house itself. 

One day we invented a new, but dangerous, game.  The first half of the yard travelling down to the Slough was sloped at about a 15-20 degree angle.  This led to the first half of the game which was to ride standing up in a kids wagon, down the slope of about 30 feet to a bank midway between the house and the slough.  At that point my brother would release a rope tied to the limb of a large MADRONA TREE; I was to catch it and sail out into the air above the lower part of the lot which was flat and ended at the sloughs edge.  I would then let go of the rope and drop back down to earth, a drop (If done correctly) of about 6-8 feet and land safely on the ground, and then the next brother would ride the wagon down the slope. 

In this particular instance, however, this did not occur. 

Instead, I had what turns out to be a bad practice of sticking my tongue out when engaged in athletic activities.  As a result, when I landed my chin came down on my knee, nearly severing my tongue in half.  This was highly disconcerting to say nothing of enormously painful; the blood from the severely bitten tongue gushed out of my mouth scaring my brothers half to death and terrifying me. 

My brother Arnold and I raced into the house where he called my parents who were both at the family owned business my dad had started prior to WWII.  I just screamed and bled standing over in a corner of the living room.  Dad got there shortly thereafter and off we went to the hospital where I was stitched up and the Doctor informed my dad that I wouldn’t lose my tongue and my speech patterns would not be impacted.  As I recall, my dad then stated to the doctor words to the effect that “well, there goes the upside to this hospital trip.”  My dad was joking referring to my propensity to talk too loudly and too much.  Not funny, Dad, was my thought and it still is. 

Tongue saved and stitched up, the next day I went to school as usual.  At our first bathroom break, A fellow student asked about my injury and asked to see the stitches; I complied by sticking my tongue out for him to observe.  The bloody stitches filled much of my mouth and horrified my friend so much that he puked on the spot.  That was even worse than my injury!