I broke my collarbone one Christmas in Colorado. My dad there beside me. My great Aunt Ruth in the background. I am not sure what year. Maybe 1976 or so. We were on a family vacation in Cuchara. Sliding down a mountain on waxed cardboard boxes. My cousin Hank ran into me at the bottom of the hill. Bobo said she could hear the echo of the gunshot like break. It spun me around and knocked me out. All I remember is this big blue field with a little red patch coming right at me when I turned around to look up the mountain.