One thing I think we've safely determined here is that I'm something of a klutz.
This is, of course, nothing of which to be proud, but it is something to accept. In fact, under normal circumstances, this really isn't much of a concern, at least after we've determined there won't be any long-lasting consequences and the deductible as been met.
But there is a little bit of a disturbing trend developing here and I'm worried there isn't much I can do about it.
You see, typically, a father is fairly proud when his offspring choose to follow in his footsteps. But I've been compelled by circumstance to determine that's not always the case. Particularly when those footsteps tend to go off the jogging path and into a large rock, or don't fall quite as sequentially as descending stairs typically requires.
That's because it appears in my family the apple doesn't fall, literally, that far from the tree. And it lands with a splat.
Just a few weeks ago, one of the apples discovered he wasn't quite as good at multi-tasking as he thought. He discovered this while riding a bike downhill, in the rain, which is actually a bad time to come face-to-face with your limitations. Suffice it to say, if given the choice between braking correctly and restarting your music, pick braking. Unless your goal is to flip over the handlebars of your bicycle and break your wrist.
Brake or break. Seems easy enough to remember.
Now when your child injures himself, you tend to find yourself experiencing what can best be described as mixed emotions.
For instance, there's the panic and concern that hit you, pretty much like a hammer (and, strangely, enough, I have experience with that, as well), when you come into the hospital room and see him stretched out on the bed. That gives way, quickly, to your desire to strangle him when you discover he wasn't wearing any of the five, count 'em, five bicycle helmets we own.
Then there's realization that, as a parent, perhaps you've neglected providing him with critical, yet basic information about how the world actually functions. Like, that "cool, free ambulance ride," he got? Yeah, not quite so free. To the extent that he might have to live in a storage unit while attending college.
About that ambulance thing. Yes, overkill, particularly for what turned out to be a broken wrist. And because, while he couldn't have gotten up, picked up the bike, thrown it and hit the hospital from where he had landed, it wouldn't have taken him a whole lot more tosses to get that done.
However, to the kind people who found him, sprawled on the bike path, still, I'm sure, trying to figure out why his music wasn't playing, and did, in fact, call an ambulance, thanks. Coming to his aid was a great kindness on your part and if there is one thing a parent appreciates, it's when someone else is as concerned about his child's well-being as he is. In your shoes, I probably would have called for a helicopter.
And, as a family, we have some experience with that as well (oldest son, concussion during his junior year of football, airlifted to Children's Hospital in Little Rock; he's fine now, thanks for asking). Or bike wrecks (oldest daughter, broken elbow we didn't figure out was broken for a day). Or broken bones (youngest son, again, this time slipping off a swing set he's climbed up on in the rain while wearing rubber boots. What could go wrong there?). Or splints and casts (oldest son, thumb, not even sure I remember why). Or trips to the emergency room (youngest daughter, hit with a door, stitches, or oldest daughter, stuck a rock up her nose, got to sit with car wreck victims and guy who looked suspiciously like he'd just left an establishment with someone else's bullet, at least until she sneezed and ended the crisis).
On the bright side, we've accumulated lots of splints, slings and braces (I think there's even a cane I had to use for bit, not even in an ironic way), so when we do hurt ourselves, we're prepared.
And it was somewhat reassuring that the nurses and doctors who treated my youngest this time were so complimentary of the fact that he was out, exercising and not at home playing video games. It made me feel a little better.
Of course, kids at home playing video games don't get a cool ride in an ambulance. At least not in real life.
GARY SMITH IS A RECOVERING JOURNALIST LIVING IN ROGERS.
Commentary on 08/14/2014