To all young parents out there, make sure you restrict professional wresting and WWE from your children's viewing. Okay — restricting it might be a stretch, but at least make sure to monitor your children's behavior that comes as a result of watching professional wrestling, and I'm going to share a story for why you should.

When I was younger, I was a huge fan of professional wrestling, staying up Monday and Friday nights to watch WWE, Raw and Smackdown, and I was particularly a fan of high-flying wrestlers like Jeff Hardy who would do insane, acrobatic moves off the turnbuckle.

In fact, I was so into the WWE that I used to practice the moves I saw on TV on the bed, with a teddy bear. At some points, I would jump onto the bed and try things like flipping on the bed, but I spent the rest of my efforts channeling my rage into during more, well, stationary moves on this teddy bear.

I remember at the time that the Undertaker and Bautista were dominating Smackdown, and I brutally abused this teddy bear, when I was 10 years old, with moves like the Bautista Bomb and the Piledriver. Over and over again, I'd throw or slam this teddy bear for no reason, and then even spear him onto the pillow.

If the teddy bear were living, he wouldn't have been having a good time by any stretch of the imagination. I'd try more and more risky moves as I went on, which included standing up and hitting the teddy bear against the ceiling, and whatnot.

For me, abusing this teddy bear and showing off my "wrestling" prowess was what I did in almost all my free time in stages I wasn't watching WWE, but one time the teddy bear struck back. I was trying to do a Bautista Bomb on the bear, and then the bear's head grazed the cover of a light. The cover fell down, hit me in my forehead, and the world went black for a couple seconds.

I woke back up on the ground, felt my forehead, and realized I was bleeding when I touched my forehead. The whole light cover was still intact, so I thought that good that I didn't have any glass in my forehead.

I went to my parents' room to get a band-aid, only to then look in the mirror, and realize there was a huge gash on my forehead. It was busted open, and the skin on my forehead was completely gone.

As a 10-year-old, I did the only thing I could do — scream. Neither of my parents were home, and my brother, who is seven years older than me, was in the bathroom for an extremely long amount of time. I went to the bathroom, banged on the door, and screamed about how I was going to die and how he needed to come out to help me.

"Open the door! I'm going to die! I'm going to die!" I yelled through the door.

My brother, at the time, thought I was messing with him and thought that I was trying to pull some sort of prank. He didn't open the door, and yelled some obscenities to let me know that he wasn't going to help me and that he wasn't going to open the door until I calmed down.

Well, it was nice to know that at least he was honest about not helping me.

Both my parents were working at the time, so I just didn't have any options besides call 911. I called the police, and told the dispatcher the same panicked statements I said to my brother like "I'm going to die," and then finally was able to give my address to the dispatcher. I did my best to bandage my forehead before the police arrived with whatever medical supplies I could find in my parents' drawers.

It took about 15 minutes for first responders to arrive, and oh, my brother was still in the bathroom.

Eventually, some first responders came, bandaged me up, asked me questions about what happened, and took me into the ambulance. At the same time, they asked my brother why he stayed in the bathroom the whole time, and why he never helped me when I was begging for it. They questioned whether he had some role in my injury, to which I had to quickly deny.

They put me in an ambulance and then to the hospital. My parents were called from emergency contacts that my brother and I were able to give, and they both left work to come to the hospital. A doctor performed plastic surgery on my forehead, and my dad would tell me that the medical bill would amount to more than he made in a month, but he was just glad I was safe.

To this day, I have a scar on my forehead that makes me look a bit like Harry Potter, but the incident is funny to look back on.

What are some of the lessons I learned?

Well, one was to not abuse your stuffed animal. God and the universe are going to pay you back for your sin of abusing an inanimate object, and

Sometimes, shit just happens. The light cover could have fallen in a million directions, and yet it fell directly on my forehead. No one can control or predict a situation like that.

Also, sometimes the people you turn to for help, well, aren't that helpful. I begrudge my brother a lot of things, but him being in the bathroom the whole time I was panicking about busting my head open is not one of them. Sure, it wasn't the nicest thing to do, but we were brothers. He messed with me, and I messed with him, and in his mind, I completely see how it was hard to fathom that I was seriously hurt.

When you can't rely on others for help, sometimes you have to take things into your own hands to seek help. That day was my first 911 call. I am privileged and fortunate enough to be able to call first responders and law enforcement without any fear for my safety — but in that moment I really didn't have any other choice.

If I called a parent at work, it would have taken forever for them to answer. This was a time when there were only landlines and no cellphones, so I had to take matters into my own hands.

Lastly, when they give the disclaimer in WWE matches and shows to not try this at home, seriously, don't try it at home. Monitor your kids and shut it down whenever they try something that dangerous. It's okay for me to have watched, but not okay to think that I was some pro wrestler too.

All I know is that I would not have wanted to be a parent of 10-year-old Ryan. I might have fought the teddy bear a million times, but that time, the teddy bear won.