When I was like 4 or 5, I fell between the couch and the wall and bit or somehow otherwise cut my tongue and had to go get stitches. Got to eat a few popsicles on the way to the hospital for the bleeding...
Then when I was 13, I spent a day operating an excavator and a dump truck... I would fill the truck, and drive it to where my Dad was, he'd empty it and I'd repeat the process. Very fun day, that.
Where's yours Eric? You can't just start a topic like this without putting your own in...