I was teaching 8-10 year old's how to play golf. One of them scuffed an elbow somehow and there was a little blood. All those kids ooed and ahhed over the tiny bit of blood. Two wanted to call 911. We got to talking and NONE of the 7, including the scratchee, had ever seen their own blood flow and drip. No stitches, no sprains, no broken bones. By the time I was 10 I'd had stitches at least 3 times and probably needed them 4 or 5 other times but hid it from my parents. How do you go through childhood and not bleed? What ever happed to, "rub some dirt on it, you'll be alright"?
“By the time I was 10 I’d had stitches at least 3 times and probably needed them 4 or 5 other times but hid it from my parents. How do you go through childhood and not bleed? What ever happed to, “rub some dirt on it, you’ll be alright”?”
Amen to that!
I had my hair cut on Thursday from ‘Tina’ (I’ve been going to her for many years).
She and her husband have two children - 6 (boy) & 4 (girl) - and I asked what they were doing for fun this summer.
She said that the kids are into motorcycle racing!
We talked about that for some time - mentioning the need to use your brain to stay away from others, try not to fall and the like. They are really good parents and I know their children will have lot’s of ‘owies’ growing up.
She’s a real trooper and refused to wear a facemark during Covid because, as she stated, ‘I’m in a protected class - I’m pregnant!” It made the Nazis at Costco go insane. She never backed down and actually told one guy: “I’m shopping, I’m NOT wearing a mask and you can call the police if you want to stop me.”
You handled that very well. I learned very quickly as a new parent that my son’s reaction to an incident would quickly mirror mine. If I became hysterical and anxious, so did he. If I remained calm and logical, so would he. He took a bad spill off his bike on a sidewalk when he was about 6. The first thing I did after I picked him up and assessed he was mostly okay but pretty scraped up was stomp on the sidewalk yelling “Bad sidewalk! Bad sidewalk! You hurt my boy!” He was so shocked that he stopped crying and watched his crazy mother for a few moments. When I thought his attention was sufficiently diverted, I examined him a little more closely and asked if he wanted to go home and get some cool bandaids for the scrapes.
Scuffed an elbow? Who knew golf was a contact sport? My own Son climbed onto my smallest motorcycle the same year he started school. He’s pushing 50 and still riding. 4-time state champ. The only time he ever asked for help was when he stuck the bike between two tree limbs and had to walk home to get me.