Well it’s finally happened. My greatest fear has finally come true.
Nope, The Wife hasn’t left me. At least, not yet. Guess after 15 years, she’s gotten used to having this grumpy guy around.
And no, Down the Street Bully Brad hasn’t found out where I currently live, or at least I don’t think he has.
So what great fear has finally become reality for yours truly? Little One was injured while under my care.
Early Friday morning, while chasing ducks out at Twin Lakes, she fell down and skinned her knee. As events go, a skinned knee isn’t that big of a deal. But for a 16-month-old, it’s almost the end of the world.
You see, she was depending on her Big Papa to protect her and I failed. I failed to keep her safe that day not once, but twice.
When we were growing up at 110 Flamingo Street, skinned knees were plentiful among my three brothers, The Sister, and me. As long as he didn’t see a bone sticking out, Dad just rubbed dirt on it and sent us back out to play – but only after giving us a lecture on how expensive patching pants was, of course.
I learned three things from his treatment of our injuries over the years. First, knees had bones. Second, rubbing dirt on an injury doesn’t help much with the healing process nor with getting rid of pain.
When Little One had her tumble into the pile of ducks, there was really nothing that could’ve prevented the incident other than wrapping her completely in bubble wrap before leaving home.
Unfortunately, my new shipment hadn’t been delivered yet. I couldn’t even catch up with her as she was falling. You see, even at her young age, she runs faster than her Big Papa.
When she fell, there was a lot of crying going on — most of it from me, very little from her. She’s one brave little toaster, that Little One.
After hobbling over and examining her knee, I was happy to see no bone sticking out and very little blood. No doctor or dirt rubbing was warranted. After whole body hugs and kissing away of tears, I was comforted enough to let her return to chasing ducks and feeding them their morning meal of Cheerios.
A short time later, she fell again, this time skinning the other knee.
After more tears and more hugs, it was clear that one of us had had all the excitement he could handle for the day. It was time to head for the local corner coffee shop where we would tell of our morning adventures, show off injuries and share a cheese biscuit.
The moral of this story is a simple one. No matter how much you try to protect your children, or grandchildren, unless you want to keep them wrapped in bubble wrap when out in the world, they will stumble and fall more than once.
The best you can do is to be there for them when they do. Pick them up, give them the support they need, give them hugs and even wipe away the tears. Guess that’s what being a family is all about.
And what was the third thing I learned from Dad’s treatment of all those injuries we received from those seven magical years growing up on Flamingo Street?
Dirt rubbed deeply into skinned knees will leave some rather ugly scars.
[Rick Ryckeley, who lives in Senoia, served as a firefighter for more than two decades and has been a weekly columnist since 2001. His email is storiesbyrick@gmail.com. His books are available at www.RickRyckeley.com.]
