We had a kitchen that had a trap door.
There was about fourteen steps down to the
basement.
My mom Hazel was sitting on the pot downstairs
and I ran to the door to see who knocked on
the door. I fell down the stairs and mom grabbed me
and she finished her business on the pot
and brought me upstairs and she put me on
the bunkbed and I had to stay in bed until
lunch time. Man I was hungry I forgot what we
ate because it was such a trauma to me,
but I’m sure it tasted good.
So the moral of the story is don’t run in the house.
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