My grade school years vacillated between feast and famine when it came to casts. The greatest volume-wise exposure to casts that I was to get during that era occurred when I was in my first two years of school.

During my first grade year, I had to be stitched up due to a mishap to my forehead. While in the second grade, I broke a bone. Both these events necessitated hospital care. Needless to say, I was absolutely thrilled at having to return to the outpatient clinic for follow-up visits as a result of these injuries. I got to see loads and loads of casts.

There were people of all shapes and sizes who were in various cast types. I recall what was probably a teenage boy who had what appeared to me to be an endlessly long llc on. In fact, the llc made his casted leg appear as if it were twice as long as his good leg.

There was a kid barely older than myself who was also in an llc. His cast had loads of graffiti on it. One of the most striking aspects of his cast's graffiti was a ladder that was drawn on it that went up the back of the cast from his anatomical heel (as opposed to a walking heel which in his case was lacking), to a point just below the back of his knee. As it turned out, his cast required repairs and so extra plaster was added to the lower portion of the cast. This was evident when he exited from the castroom and the foot and lower part of the cast was a bright shiny white and all that was visible from before was the top third of the ladder.

Besides the children, there were also many grown-ups who were in casts. One very common aspect to cast wearers of that era was the use of a knitted slipper as a cast covering. Maybe as much as one cast out of two was so protected. Of course, these were most common on casts that did not have the walking heel incorporated into the bottom.

It was prior to these trips to the hospital that my mother issued a stern warning to me. "Don't stare at people in casts. And even more importantly, don't ever laugh at someone in a cast. It isn't their fault if they're stuck that way," she admonished.

As a result, I had no choice but to resort to trickery in order to get decent looks at casts. Rather than being overt, when in the presence of a cast, I waited until my mother wasn't looking in order to get my sneak peeks. I became rather proficient at it. One night as I lay in bed yet to fall asleep, and having been to the hospital earlier that day, I overheard my mother telling my dad about how good I was as far as not staring at gimpy people.

"He really isn't that bad at all when in the presence of people in casts and amputees and all of those, he hardly even looks," she proclaimed.

I developed complications with the healing of what had been a nasty compound fracture across the bridge of my nose. I was away from school for months during my convalescence. At times, I was going to the outpatient clinic at the hospital up to twice a week. Infection had set into the nose and each trip to the hospital meant that the Doc would be pushing and squeezing my yet to heal nose with all of his might in order to expel as much oozable, multicolored puss as possible. Not once did I ever complain. I would lie there thinking about the casts that I'd just been in the presence of moments before in the hallway that doubled as a waiting area. The more I reminisce about these trips to the sick house, the more I am convinced that I was actually practicing a form of self hypnosis; they could have performed surgery on me without any anesthetic.

Another benefit from these frequent trips to cast heaven is that I got a firsthand sense of what exactly a freshly applied plaster cast looked and smelled like. I liked what my senses were telling me. A fresh cast was just so smooth and had such an eye pleasing sheen. And the smell, to this day I have trouble describing it as anything other than that of plaster. Perhaps it is because the olfactory sense is that which has the most direct link to the brain... but oh Hell: screw the bakery; give me a castroom!

From the common creamy residue on the fingers and toes protruding out from freshly applied casts, I concluded that the application process necessitated that the plaster be in a creamy state. I found the residue to resemble the texture of dried soap. So, several times while I took baths in those days, I'd lather up as much soap as possible and I'd apply it evenly and thickly over my arm. I'd keep my arm up out of the water and my elbow flexed at a ninety degree angle in order to allow the soap to dry. I was hopeful that it would thicken and harden into my very own cast. Unfortunately the soap would lose it's bubbles and the result would be that the skin on my arm felt as if it was due to be molted.

I broke the only bone that I've ever broken in my life up to this point - these were the worst of times. I got to see all sorts of casts up close and personal thereby becoming a caster - these were the best of times!