The night a driver golf club was slammed on the top of my head is a situation I will not forget because of the fact that my brother showed an evil side of himself, moreover I discovered a good samaritan in my family. At the time, I was six years of age and my brother, three. My uncle had been in town that weekend and brought along his fancy golf clubs to show off to my-- at the time-- uninterested father. I suppose curiosity driven, my brother was able to attain the biggest and heaviest golf club of the whole set,-- the driver-- sneak up behind me and whack the top of my head while I was peacefully watching Spongebob. Now, because I had no recognition of what he was doing behind my back I do not know if it was intentional or not. Nevertheless, most details after the hit remain a blur in my mind, though I am told that my dad and uncle quickly rushed to my aid and drove me to the hospital the moment my dad refrained himself from giving my brother a taste of what he gave me. That night I was too young to realize, however, now I understand that my dad and uncle were being good samaritans because they could have just given minimal aid to myself, instead they took action and went out of their way to abbet me. (Today, a scar remains on my head.)
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