Priorities.

Once, when I was about fifteen years old, I saw the bone inside my sister's finger.

But we'll get to that.

The summer after my freshman year in high school, my mother worked days. Since I was the oldest of four kids, I often found myself in charge. We didn't do a whole lot, really. Sometimes we ordered food and played board games. Sometimes we watched Full House. However, on this particular day, I remember vividly that we were playing Mario 3. We were all fighting over who would go next, and I remember that instead of playing the role of diplomatic babysitter, I instead took on a communist dictator persona and confiscated the controller as my own. I felt bad making everyone sit back and watch me play though - so I made them do chores instead. My sister Jenny was in charge of vacuuming the living room. My brother Ben had to sweep the kitchen. And lastly, my sister Steph had to do the dishes.

It was going pretty well, if you ask me. There were no siblings around to aggravate me, and the housework that my mom had left for us to do was getting done. AND I was getting really, really far in the game. Like, SUPER far. I had just used my last whistle and I was kickin' it in World 8. Things were really looking up in the world. Then, just as I entered that tank level (you know the one - the one where the screen advances on its own and you need to keep up), I heard a crash from the kitchen and my sister screamed. At that point, I did what any responsible big sister would do. I pretended not to hear her.

Unfortunately, that tactic didn't get me very far. Within seconds, everyone was yelling for me.

"Cindy! Come here! We need you! Emergency! Mayday! Crisis in progress!"

But. The tank level! It was still moving. I could have paused it, but there's no coming back from that, you know there's not. So I did what I had to do. I said, "I'll be right there!" And I kept playing. I jumped over and ducked under so many bullets while screams continued to echo out of the kitchen. All three of them kept yelling for me, but for the love of god I was not going to stop playing, I just wasn't, not at all, nope.

Finally, I got to the end of the level. I made my way into the kitchen and, sure enough, there was blood everywhere. It was as though there had been a ritualistic slaughtering of a goat or something, but to the best of my knowledge there was not a goat anywhere. It was then that I noticed that my sister had a kitchen towel wrapped around her fingers. I made her unwrap it so I could see the damage - and it was epic. She had been washing a drinking glass and it had shattered around her hand. A renegade sliver had made its way deep into the flesh of her pinky finger, and as a result, I found myself staring at what was so completely and apparently her bone. Her bone, on the inside of her hand, which generally was wrapped in a layer of flesh and muscle tissue. Yes, that bone. That's the one.

Eventually, we ended up calling 911. An ambulance came. Stitches went down. I wish I was able to say that I was never allowed to babysit again, but unfortunately that's not true. I babysat many a time after that. And although that day was incredibly and completely shocking, it taught me some things. It taught me that it is important to play the role of a responsible adult. It taught me that there is a time and place for everything. It taught me that when someone calls for you, maybe you should pay attention. But, most importantly, it taught me this. A lesson that I will never forget for as long as I live:

I am incredible at video games. No matter what.