Youngest son and I were driving on errands last week [isn’t that when the best conversations occur?] when we began talking about the scars of various family members and how they were acquired. Turns out all the kids have a scar under the chin from splitting it open on something when they were toddlers, lots of people do. But middle son’s scar started and ended with laugher, sandwiching the blood and tears in the middle.
He was 4 years old and we were sitting at the dinner table eating and his big sister (all of 5 years) was telling burp and fart jokes that she had learned at school that day. He got tickled and started laughing so hard that he slipped off his chair and hit his chin on the seat. Dinner interrupted, we all head out to the ER to get him sewed up.
Triage ER staff ask me what happen and I relate that he bumped his chin on the chair. We get taken back to a cubicle and wait. When the doctor arrives to stitch middle son up, he asks middle son, not me, what happened. Middle son launches into the long version, including a recounting of the specific fart joke that he found so amusing. My face goes deep red and I start to slide down in my chair, which tickles the doctor, so he has my son tell the story again when the nurse comes in with the suture tray. And again when we are leaving and a colleague walks by. SIGH.