Childhood Wound Story
In year 3, aged 8, there was a boy in my year who lived just beyond the end of my block. Darren had curly brown hair, buck teeth, and freckles. He talked funny when he would breathe in. He had an older taller brother who was in high school and had entered puberty. Our Mum’s knew each other and would catch up and they expected us to play and get along. Darren regularly wrestled and fought with his older brother. If he’d wrestle with me, he could tie me in knots, and I had no idea how to resist or to stop his attacks. One day I was riding around on bikes with Darren and his brother. We stopped at the end of my street, about 100m from his house. I knew Darren was a liar and a deceiver. But he also knew I believed what people said if they spoke convincingly – I was gullible. There was a little rust on my bike and he suggested squirting water from my bottle on the rust. I knew he was trying to deceive me, and I said that was dumb and it would make the rust worse. Initially he agreed, but