Bruce Buchanan (1943-living)
me-->Bruce Albert Buchanan
When my dad was about five years old, he went down to Ma Buchanan's house. He and a neighbor kid, Bobby, decided to play in a sandbox in Bobby's backyard.
This is what parents would like to think is happening when their kids play together in a sandbox.
This is usually what happens when kids play together in a sandbox.
Dad and Bobby were no exception. They began to fight. Suddenly, FOR NO REASON, (yeah, right Dad) Bobby picked up a chair and threw it at Dad's head. Dad wasn't happy.
But not just because his feelings were hurt. He was really hurt. His eye specifically. So he covered his face.
It didn't take long to realize why his eye was hurting. His was bleeding! What does any boy do when he's hurt and bleeding? He ran into the house to find his grandmother, of course.
"Ma, Bobby hit me in the face with a chair!"
Ma Buchanan did what any grandmother would do if she saw her grandson running through the house bleeding.
No, she didn't do that. She did this.
As Dad was bleeding over the sink, Ma Buchanan called Nona. "Your son has been hurt, there is something wrong with his eye." Nona jumped in her car and headed to her mother-in-law's.
Meanwhile Ma was trying to wash Dad's face, but Dad wouldn't put his hands down. He kept covering his eye. Finally, Nona arrived 10 minutes later, she was able to convince him take his hand off his eye. What happened next was absolutely horrifying.
Dad's eyeball fell out of its socket and went down the drain!
Or so she thought.
Turns out the blood had begun to clot in his hand. When he let go, all of the clotted blood looked like a bloody eyeball going down the drain.
Needless to say, Dad was never allowed to play with Bobby again.