Yesterday I was helping my father nail up some insulation in our attic. Some of it had fallen off, and I was handing him nails and washers, shining the flashlight, and doing other little tasks.

My dad told me to get some more nails. In a fury, I opened the door (our attic was a door, not a hole in the roof) and ran down the staircase.

I stubbed my toe on something. Cursing, I stopped for a moment.

That was when I noticed the blood.

It was flooding my sock with red fluid. If it weren’t for the fact that it hurt so much, I would have thrown up.

My first thought was, I broke my bone.

I hobbled back up, yelling to my dad. “Hurt myself,” I said. “Don’t worry.”

I ran back downstairs with one foot (very hard, by the way). I yelled to my mom.

When we had started the insulation-fixing project, our main concern had been for my dad. He was the one who was in the most danger; one wrong step and he could find himself laying in the living room, beneath a pile of wood.

Yet here I was, all hurt. Before you can start to insult me, keep in mind that I am properly ashamed of myself.

My mom ran out of the room. “IS DAD HURT?” she yelled.

“No. I am,” I said.

She raised her eyebrow, than saw my sock.

“Ouch.”

Ouch didn’t quite place it. Yikes didn’t either. It was hurting so much I was ready to call the ambulance.

Lesson learned: priorities in life can change very fast. I consider this an important life lesson: you may be on track to be the world’s richest person, but if something happens, then all may be lost.

Later, we found out that when I stubbed my toe, it had caused the toenail to leave the skin near it, popping up a bit. Blood had streamed out from there.

(Did I gross you out?)