I was in fifth or sixth grade when I tried to catch a kickball thrown towards me at a very high velocity and ended up with a swelling middle finger. X-rays showed that nothing was broken, thank goodness, but I did have to have that finger in a splint for a short time.


The one day I had it on, the kids in my classes thought it was great because every time I picked up a pen or pencil to write, I was flipping off the teachers and they couldn't say anything about it. Okay, yeah, that was kinda fun and funny.


What wasn't fun and funny, though, was when my parents got cruel and served hamburgers for dinner that night. I had no choice but to hold the burger in both hands (Mom and Dad made 'em HUGE, almost like at Port of Call or Jackson Hole) and have that one finger standing out in the splint.


"How rude!" Mom exclaimed.


"How dare you?" Dad bellowed.


Then they looked at each other and laughed evilly. Thanks, parents.


I didn't really learn to laugh at that until a few years down the line.


This morning, the little guy woke up and complained that his leg was really hurting him. It was an ordeal getting him dressed, as he yelled from pain. He was hesitant to put weight on his right leg. I was racking my brains as to how he could have possibly broken his leg in the bed somehow, since he was walking just fine the night before. Dan and I headed for the emergency room. Since it was early in the morning, we got to see a doctor right away.

God bless the guy who saw him and reassured us with his manner and concern for all our well-being, not just the little guy's. The tests and the X-rays showed that my son has some of this in his hip. No cast, but some pain for a few days, if no fever develops. Hell, I even refrained from telling the punchline to a baaaad blond joke I started to tell when I realized how offensive it would be to the doc. Don't want to unleash that kind of thing on a nice, helpful individual.

We went to a local breakfast place to celebrate, the little guy had some of his chocolate chip pancakes and then declared that he was finished. "May I be excused?" he asked.

"Sure," said Dan, who was still eating.

"Daddy, can you take me to the jukebox?" the kid asked, for the obvious reason that it hurt to walk.

Then Dan saw a funny in the situation. At most meals lately, the little guy has been eating very little, declaring himself done with whatever is served, and then asking to be excused. We are doing our best to teach him to stay at the table a bit longer and actually eat some more with the rest of us, but food just ain't high on his priority list.

Dan began to laugh.

"Oh, yeah, you're excused," he said, smiling. "Good luck getting anywhere right now, though!"

"That's not nice, honey," I said, disapproving. I immediately thought of what happened with my jammed finger, and had to fight to keep a straight face. Still and all, I thought it was a tad insensitive to say to a four year old.

Then again, who knows?

With the kind of sense of humor this kid is developing, he will most certainly file this away for future use and unleash it on one of us when we least expect it. I can see it now. With all the nagging this kid does for me to do stuff for him in the car while I am driving the car, we'll have a minor wreck someday, and the first words out of his mouth will most likely be:

"So, Mom, we've had an accident. Can you get my toy car off the floor now?"

___________________

Oh, and two posts ago, I logged in my 200th post. My fingers have certainly been doing the talking over the past year and a half or so. And after all this time, they're still a tad itchy. Is that amazing or what?