Andy gets a car door shut on his fingers

 


January 29, 1997

Well, it was bound to happen. It’s certainly a rite of passage in everyone’s childhood. Getting a car door slammed on your fingers. 

This morning Andy and I agreed to change our usual Wednesday sequence of events. Instead of my picking up the boys a little earlier than usual, returning home to change and grabbing a quick bite to eat, Andy decided he’s wear his basketball t-shirt and shorts underneath a long-sleeve shirt and a pair of sweats. I returned home early from work and fixed both boys a ‘lite’ bag lunch: peanut butter and jelly sandwich and a small container of applesauce for Eddie and a bologna and cheese sandwich and small fruit cup (diced peaches) for Andy. I wanted to have something ready for a possible hunger attack since our regular supper time would be delayed by more than an hour. 

Once Eddie closed his door after getting into the back seat of the car, Andy started pleading, “Open the door, open the door!”, I thought our efficiency plans had gone down the tubes. Fortunately, Eddie reacted very quickly; he had that door open within seconds. I expected a major production at this point, Andy crying as a result of the extreme pain cause by this accident, a frantic drive home to put the fingers of his left hand in ice, perhaps a trip to the emergency room for x-rays. 

Surprisingly, Andy’s crying stopped within 10 seconds. He continued to whimper momentarily. 

I asked him how his hand felt. “It’s not broken,” he said. “Let me see you move it,” I instructed. 

His hand movement looked normal. 

“Do you think you can still play basketball?”

“Yeah.” 

“Do you want me to stop at home and get some ice?” 

“No.” 

“Why don’t you grab a fistful of snow before we leave.” 

“No. That will be too cold.” 

“But Andy, some cold will probably feel good on your hand right now.” 

During the drive to his practice, I asked him if his hand felt warm. I wondered if maybe I should even let him attend his practice, but how that it’s seven o’clock and time to return home, my fears were groundless.

Comments

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

"Eddie made me spill my cereal"

Image
  The first thing I noticed when I picked up the boys at school today was Eddie’s jacket lying in the middle of the hallway floor next to the gym, looking as though it had been thoroughly stomped on by a herd of elephants with muddy feet. (hooves?) Even the inside of his sleeves were dirty. I’ve previously talked to Eddie about this habit of his shedding his coat instead of hanging it on his designated hook after outdoor play. Of course, Eddie isn’t the only child guilty of this sin. I’m sure it’s a contest among the kids to see who can move more quickly to the next area of activity. This evening I thought I’d take a more authoritative approach.  “Eddie, from now on, if I see your jacked on the floor, do you know what that means?”  He offers no response, gives me no eye contact.  “It I find your jacket on the floor, it means no TV.”  Might as well hit him where it hurts.  Coincidentally, Andy showed me the dirt on his jacket as we left the school....
Read more

Ready for school

Image
Artwork by Eddie Thursday, January 9   Just as I was finishing up my morning preparations in the bathroom, Andy informed me that he and Eddie were walking to school.  Isn’t it a little bit early yet?” I asked. “It can’t be much past 7:30.”  “But Dad, we want to get to school before the bell rings,” he explained.   It doesn’t take you a half hour to walk to school,” I offered.  But the boys were not to be denied. They both had put on their jackets and boots, and Eddie had even put the two boxes of pre-packaged Rice Krispie bars in a Middleton Public Library canvas bag. (It was his turn to bring the morning treat to his kindergarten class.) His backpack, containing his snow pants and take-home folder, was strapped to his back.   Where are your shoes?” I asked.   In my pack,” he answered.  Let me check.”  I had a vision of Eddie in boots all day, and, sure enough, his shoes were not where he told me they were. We fou...
Read more