When I was 3 years old I had my first memory of pain and this memory has followed me through my entire life. I could suffer from a gunshot wound, or endure a knife breaking my skin and it still would not result to the amount of pain i felt when I was 3 years old. Now my first serious wound was not serious at all. I skinned my knee trying to ride a bike and unfortunately got some rocks stuck under my skin. It was not the wound itself that makes this memory so painful. It was the fact that I had believed that life was all about happiness and sunshine up until that very point. It was the first time I realized that I was going to grow up constantly falling, crying, and complaining that there's rocks stuck under my skin. I realized that happiness only lasts a moment, but I would not grow stronger if I did not allow myself to fall. Happiness would not be achieved if I didn't dry my face and get up again.