Definition: In this task, you are given a Reddit post as a text. Your task is to generate a title for this text. The title should start with "TIFU by", followed by a situation that caused humor. The title should contain 7-12 words, ideally.
Input: Text: this happened way back in spring of 2002. [weekend warning]

growing up we had **those** neighbors. they were a second family, but they were accident prone. maybe you've had similar friends and family in your life. their boys were roughly the same age as my brother and i. the eldest and middle bookended my grade (6th & 8th grade), and the youngest was in my brother's grade. (2nd) we grew up together and it was assumed that we'd spontaneously walk into the others house at a given notice.

we also carpooled together. now, my brother and i had identical black jansport backpacks, and on this fateful day,  i grabbed the wrong one, going to school.

now i don't have any of my homework. well great, one more day i'm called a slacker. whoopdidoo. i finish up the day, wondering how it could get more miserable.

since my brother was so young, and his backpack was stolen frequently, he was not entrusted with the house key. i get home, and i can't get in the house. welp, time to go to the neighbors, i was going to do it anyway, after dropping off my backpack.

we lived in st. louis county at the time, and in one of the easements of a nearby waste water run-off, the eldest son had found a machete. now i know what you're thinking. stl... machete... it's a murder weapon. thinking back, it probably wasn't. if you're not familiar with easements they're frequently accessed to remove debris from the run-off duct, it was probably dropped by a worker trying to clear a path. anyway, the eldest son, we'll call him scott, is what i can only describe as "the artificier". he tinkered with everything. scott decided that he was going to refurbish the tool, because my backyard, and his back yard both had a lot of bush honeysuckle. the tool was rusted dull, the flat- heavily pitted, and the handle had mostly rotted away.

scott had spent a week and a half grinding, sharpening, and polishing the blade, and had made a new handle for it. now he was just trying to fit and flatten several .22 casing as rivets for the handle. it was actually a beautiful piece of equipment as we sat watching reruns of sabrina; the teenage witch. he had shown that it was sharp enough, it could fall through a cardboard box, early in the afternoon.

everyone's chilling, the two elder bros, myself, 2nd mom. scott has to go to the bathroom, leaving the machete precariously situated and unattended on a table, and suddenly the youngest brother comes in.

now, i don't recall why he was at home, and my brother was not. i think he was either ill, or my brother was at after-care. it doesn't really matter. he walks into the living room bouncing a basketball on the tile floor, leading into the living room. we'll call him chuck. the boing boing of the ball is driving me up a wall, and given the acoustics of the house, completely overwhelmed the tv.

"hey chuck! could you stop bouncing the ball in the house?" i shouted.

no response

"could you stop bouncing the ball in the house!!" i yelled again.

"whaaat!?!" he shouted back.

"for the love of fucking christ stop bouncing the ball!!!!" i barked.

he runs off crying. second mom gives me a brief scolding on my language, which i defend. "oh please, he's heard far worse from his brothers."

chuck runs back into the room, slams the ball down, which bounces atop the machete, flies across the room, into my leg, and bounces over my shoulder.

except i didn't see any of it. i was watching television, with my back turned. in my perspective a grey blob fell from the ceiling and disappeared. was the roof collapsing? i cover my face, cuz i know exactly what is going to happen next. i'm going to look at the ceiling, and a rafter is going to go straight in my eye. i peak out behind my hands and nothing is going on. no one is screaming. no one is panicking.

i look down at my leg, which had fallen asleep. it looked weird. there's this grey wooden-like surface at the bottom of what looks like rice pudding. "huh, i think i got hit." i said, disarmed.

"oh that's nice dear," quips second mom.

i look at the wound, i poke it a bit. relax my leg. the start of the first crimson drip appears. "no, i think i'm in it deep, this time. can you look at it."

oh the screaming. i'm still disarmed, not sure what's going on, and blood loss hasn't set in yet. scott comes out of the bathroom bewildered. the middle brother shouts to the first to grab a towel as a tourniquet, then barks at the youngest to go to his room. i find stiff beanbag ottoman, and put my legs up. 

the screaming hasn't stopped. the dad had just pulled into the driveway and hears the commotion from outside the house. he runs in, looks at the everything and dials 911. the scott pushes 2nd mom back into one of the bedrooms. 

ems shows up 15 minutes later, i get to the hospital, i get stitched up, i hobble out ~10pm.

TIFU by grabbing the wrong backpack