For me, I think it was when I was playing in the yard, and saw one of my mom’s pots of dirt for her garden, and I thought “yeah this would be good to dump on my lap”
It was full of fire ants. Big, angry, north carolinian fire ants.
I was covered in red welts and all I remember is screaming at the top of my lungs while my mom sprayed me down with a hose
I accidentally slammed my picky toe into a corner once and I’m pretty sure I broke it. But I was scared to tell my parents, so I just wore socks around the house until it healed.
I don’t think it healed properly either. If I feel the edges of my picky toes, I can feel a difference between my right and left. Using standard anatomical terms of location for clarity, the toe that got injured has a pointier joint on the medial edge, with the distal bone of the pinky turning slightly more laterally than the uninjured toe bone does. It doesn’t hurt today and doesn’t cause me any issues, as far as I can tell.
It still sucks that I’m not the only one who felt the need to hide an injury as a child.