Memories of Paris

       I have almost died twice. Surprisingly both times happened in the same year. But because I was just a baby at the time, I have no memory of these life-threatening events. So, these stories were heard from my mother.

        Plus a little bit of my own imagination.

        We were living in Paris for the year on account of my father’s business. One day my father went out to attend to business leaving my mother and the rest of us at home. My mother was cooking in the kitchen. My two years older brother was playing with LEGO blocks. I, on the other hand, was sharpening up on my less-than-perfect crawling capabilities. At that time, a fresh summer breeze stroked my cheek. The window was left open. My mother was smart, but she was a forgetful person. I was smart, too, but I was a quiet person.

         We were on 8th floor. Birdsongs and good smells came from outside. At that moment I thought, “I can fly.”

         I tried to approach the window to test the result of my training. Luckily, my mother didn’t notice my plan. I took off from the carpet with baby power. Just as my head went out of the window, my brother grabbed my leg and shouted, "Mom!" She ran and picked me up. I could see the Eiffel tower in the distance. Thus, my plan failed. Since then, when my brother and I have a quarrel, he always ends the argument, “I saved you!”

　　  The second story is when I had grown up a bit. I was a one year old toddler. I was sharpening up on my less-than-perfect toddling skills. My mother, my brother and I were walking through a metro station. I tried to climb up stairs with my mother. I was still smart, but I had become a showoff. I wanted to surprise everyone by climbing to the top of the Olympic World Records via stairs. but instead of going up I fell over and bumped my head down tumbling on stairs.

          Blood flowed from my head and I cried. My mother panicked. She wanted to get help, but she couldn’t speak French. Of course, my older brother couldn’t save me. Then an elder man passed by and saw our situation. He said, “Oh dear. Let’s go to hospital right away!”  My mother and my brother couldn’t understand his speaking, but I could understand it clearly. The man picked me up and started walking. My mother followed him with my brother. I was treated at the hospital and was saved. My mother was so impressed with his help and so repeated me the story many times.

          I became a grownup. I’m not smart for having bumped my head at that time. So, I’m sharpening up on my less-than-perfect walking competence. Sometimes, I look at the scar on my forehead in a mirror and remember that story. If she did not tell me it, I might have chosen a different path in my life. Because, if someone is in need, I feel I have to help them. So, the story must be a great gift from my mother. The scar is worth more than a gold medal.