Randomness Wednesday (story about me)!

When I was four years old I had something happen to me. It is the one thing I really remember from being that age. Here goes:
My mom, sister, and I had stopped off at the local church for mom to do something (I don't remember what it was). While she was inside with our neighbor and someone else, Bee and I decided to go play outside. The game was...are you ready?... "Hide From Cars."
We made the game up.
I'm sure you knew that.
The object of the game was to get as close to the church sign as we could, so no cars (aka people in the cars) could see us!
Simple right?!
We had been playing for a little while, when Bee decided to go inside for a minute or two. I stayed behind the sign. The next thing I knew was that I had hit my head on the stone part of the sign and (brace yourself) blood ran down my face. I think I remember screaming. Bee came back out, stopped, and ran back in. My mom came charging out of the church and brought me inside. I was freaking out. My bloody hand-prints were all over her white t-shirt, and the dish towel that was being held against my gushing head was already soaked. Our neighbor drove us to the nearest urgent care, and she then called my dad. He was working so she had to leave a message. She told him, "You don't have to come. She's bleeding pretty good, but we're at the urgent care, and everything is under control."
He came. YAY!
After what seemed like forever, the doctor brought us back for him to have a look. (Brace yourself again) He said that my head was busted open all the way down to my hard-head-skull. (Sorry...gotta put details...)
My mom and sister were instructed to stay outside (mom was a basket-case). My dad and our neighbor held me down on the table as the doctor prepared to stitch me up.
Now here is the interesting part. Ready?
The doctor started to tell me what he was going to do, step by step...as in... needles...poking...pain... (excuse me, I need to take a break).
(I'm back).
My dad asked him not to tell me these things, to just do it. Logical...seeing as how I was only four years old, and freaking out as it was.
He stopped...for a minute, and then continued to tell me what he was doing. The rude man! Mean! Horrible! Scary!
Sorry.
My dad really got onto him this time! Go daddy! You tell him! Booyah!
Sorry.
So after a long and drawn out process, it was finally over and my daddy took me home to give me a bath and to wash my now-bloody-hair.
The wound was above my right eyebrow, but now, after so many years, the scar is very near my hairline. Cool huh?!

I remember a couple of days after the ordeal, I asked my parents if we could go back to the spot that I hit my head at.
"Why do you want to do that?" They had asked.
"Because I want to find my head." I said as if it were obvious.
"Um...what?"
"I want to find my head! If it was busted open then I want to find the part that went in the hole!"
I think they laughed a little...maybe chuckled. "Honey, you won't find it."
"Why not? Did someone throw it away?" I asked with a scowl.
"No, there was not a piece that fell out."
"Oh, I thought it would be like an apple core." (Don't ask me why I said that.)
The end.