When I was about six years old, I slammed my face, face first, onto a concrete slab and

knocked one of my front teeth out.

Just imagine the grossest sound ever, and that is the noise my mouth made.

I still keep that tooth in a very special place, although I'm not going to tell you where.

Okay, actually, I will.

It's in my underwear drawer in a little tooth case.

Well, oh, gee, cute servants.

No, because I've talked about it in a politics episode before.

My own personal weirdness aside, we all have our childhood trauma stories and crazy injuries.

Am I right?

I mean, everything from broken arms to sprained ankles to stitches.

Scabby's are a childhood right of passage, but there are some stories that go beyond the

wounds that fade into scars.

Those are the sort of stories that sober up the idea of childhood for the ones who are

forced to grow up because of extreme injuries.

There are also the sort of stories that heal into beautiful accounts of hope, courage, and

so much meaning.

Today's guest was once a little girl like so many of you listening.

She had a bright imagination, curiosity, and friends.

She grew up in the sort of place where everyone knows everyone, and playing outside was the

norm.

And when she was 10 years old, she was doing just that at a friend's house.

...