According to the old saying, “there is a first time for everything.” Oftentimes that “first time” is a milestone in a child’s life.

There are the obvious firsts, like first steps, first words, or the first kiss. And there are other firsts that are somewhat less momentous like the first time on a plane, the first time you eat broccoli, and your first speeding ticket. Although lots of firsts happen when you are young, the fact is you’re never too old to have a first time for something. In fact, I’m still waiting for the first time I win the lottery. The eldest boy, who is a junior in college, had a first recently and unfortunately it was not winning the lottery either.

Since spring finally arrived, my wife and I drove up to Boston to watch the eldest boy’s rugby game. This was not a first for us. The very first time we saw a game, when one of the players got hurt, the trainer came out to attend to the injured player. Naturally I expected that like in most (perhaps all?) other sports, the game would stop while the trainer was on the field. But rugby is not like other sports and the game simply continued, which was definitely a first for me.

Partway through the first half of the more recent rugby experience, there was another injury. Unfortunately, this time it was the eldest boy.

He was holding his arm in a funny sort of way and it was definitely funny strange and not funny haha. He played another minute or so until a sub came in and then went immediately to the trainer. After a brief discussion, she rigged a crude sling out of an old sweatshirt (one of mine actually) and he was done for the day. After the game, we’d originally planned to share a quick meal. Instead, the eldest and one of his teammates were off to the hospital. The eldest needed x-rays and his teammate required stitches for the huge bloody gash on his forehead. Remarkably, both of them were in good spirits. Later that night, he called to tell us he’d broken both his elbow and his forearm. They are his first and hopefully his last, broken bones.

While the eldest made it all the way to college before breaking a bone, I wasn’t yet in middle school when I had my first (and so far only) break. The summer was winding down and sixth grade was just around the corner. I’d gone camping with a friend and his family somewhere in New York. For reasons that will soon become clear, I don’t remember much about the campground. But I do remember the hill. It was an incredibly steep, Mt. Everest kind of hill and our campsite was somewhere the top of it. Somewhere near the bottom, there were railroad tracks.

Whenever we heard a train coming, we had just enough time to hop onto our bikes, careen down the hill at the speed of light, put pennies on the tracks, and thus add to our growing collection of flattened pennies.

It was on one of those trips down the hill the accident happened. One minute I was flying down the hill with a pocketful of soon to be flattened pennies and the next thing I knew, I was in the back of a station wagon with the worst headache ever. To this day I have no idea what happened. Later, witnesses would say that it looked like I passed out while still on the bike. I think it’s more likely that I closed my eyes for a moment to feel the wind in my face and hit something. Whatever the cause, because bike helmets had not yet been invented, I managed to crack my skull.

Normally this is the part, whenever I tell this story, that people say, “Oh, that explains a lot.”

That first broken bone led to a series of other firsts. It would also be the first (and only) time I spent in a hospital. My cracked skull and the concussion that came with it were admitted for “observation.”

They may have called it observation but it was really some kind of torture experiment featuring sleep deprivation as my skull and I were constantly awakened at all hours to check one vital sign or another.

It would also be my first (but not my only) experience with roommates. There were four of us in the room. I’ve long forgotten what unfortunate maladies afflicted two of the other three boys but I do remember the fourth had a broken leg. I know this because he told the rest of us about it. Constantly.

“You don’t know,” he’d moan approximately every five minutes, referring to the pain he was in. There was a first here too. It marked the first time (but certainly not the last) that I wished for someone’s jaw to be wired shut.

Overall, as first experiences go, that hospital stay was not exactly on a par with one’s first kiss (which I don’t remember) or first speeding ticket (which I totally remember) but it was still one that somehow stuck in my cracked head.

Meanwhile, back in Boston, the eldest thought he’d be getting a cast for his arm, which would have been yet another first for him, but his doctor opted for a sling and eventual physical therapy. He also reports that his pain is already subsiding. While he’s busy rehabbing his arm I’ll be keeping my eye out for other first time milestones. I’m still hoping for that first time being published, my first trip to Paris, and of course that winning lottery ticket.