“ma, I’m heading out to school.” In spite of the snowfall that occurred last night, the sun greeted me with its gleaming radiance on my face. As I looked out on the streets, my eyes immediately became blinded by the reflection coming off the snow and ice piled on the street. I walked to school carefully, but since I was late, I had to speed things up. Everything was going well until I reached a hill. At first glance, the road seemed clear, but in reality, the cement was layered by a thin, smooth sheet of black ice. At the same time, 6-year-old me picked up the pace as I worried more about being marked tardy.

Murphy’s Law immediately struck me as I slipped and tumbled forward onto my face. I felt pain on my forehead and I shed a few tears, but I picked myself up and headed on toward my elementary school. Upon arrival, I realized I was late due to the fact that the front doors were closed and locked. I had to ring the doorbell. After waiting, the door slammed open and the person in charge of Attendance greeted me with shock on her face. At thetime, I didn’t realize that there was something wrong with my face so I acted normally and said, “Good morning.”

Rather than greet me likewise, the woman began with a barrage of questions: “What happened to you? Are you ok? Did someone do this to you?” Since I had only arrived in America the year before, my English wasn’t polished enough to comprehend what the lady was saying, nor was I able to provide a good enough answer to her questions. I decided to remain silent as her words were not understood. After a few seconds, the lady held my hand and brought me to the nurse’s office. In my mind at the time, I thought I was in some serious trouble due to being late.

Before I knew it, I was standing in front of the door that I thought would lead me to suspension. The nurse began asking me the same questions as the lady who opened the door, but she also soaked a handful of paper towels and started wiping away the dried blood on my face. It was then that I caught a glimpse of my face and I realized that I was injured.

However, despite knowing why the adults were reacting this way, it didn’t calm me down. After I was treated, I was asked the same couple of questions. Making use of my limited vocabulary I kept on repeating “I’m sorry, I’m sorry.” I got more nervous as time passed, and eventually I was hit with the question “Who did this to you?” Recognizing the word “who” I said out loud one of the few nouns I knew: “Mom.”

Wasting no time, the principal called home. Using her broken English, my mother tried to comprehend the situation. I was then transferred to the phone and I told her about the injury and how I fell. The dreadful experience went on for about 3 more minutes, though it felt like an eternity, as my mother tried explaining what happened to the principal as best she could. It wasn’t until the translator arrived that I began to truly feel relief. The misunderstanding was eventually cleared and I was sent to class.

When I got home, I was greeted by my mother standing right in front of the door. In my head I was thinking, “I AM IN SO MUCH TROUBLE.” Instead, my mother gave me a relieved smile and scolded me to be more careful next time. Spoiler Alert: that was not the last time I fell on ice and ended up with an injury. Fortunately, for my mother and myself, my language skills had improved by the next fall.

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