So my dear mom, whenever considering anything hazardous I might explore, offered one of two classic phrases: Don’t break your neck or don’t poke out your eye.
Sure enough having just turned seven I tried to open a package with a small kitchen knife. The knife slipped in my little hands. It went towards my head and poked a miniscule portion of the white of my eye. The blood curdling shriek Mom gave as she rushed to me was enough to empty the graves of a large cemetery. It may have. I was too small to find out. Fortunately, all turned out well.
At about the same age I was carrying a large toy downstairs into the basement. I slipped and landed on my thick skull. I was rushed to the nearest ER to evaluate my neck and head.
Mom breathed a sigh of relief when she was told there was no evidence of serious trauma. I did as well even at seven. Hey, it was a rough year.