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
1970s, uk, aged around 4 or 5, walking down the stairs carrying a glass when I tripped, Cut my right hand up pretty bad. My mum wrapped my hand in a towel and rushed me to a nearby army base where the medic did an effective but clumsy job of stitching me up - I still have a big scar but no movement damage.
I have no memory of it, but my father certainly does. When he came home from work to find the house with its doors wide open, blood everywhere, and nobody around, he kind of freaked out.