BUMPS AND BRUISES

Dear Spike:

I could hear you screaming in the background. More directly on the line, your mother's voice was aquiver.

Seems you made your way into a cabinet and found an old blender. And before your mother could stop you, you tossed it onto the tile floor.

Bang. Crash. Glass everywhere.

And a whole mess of blood.

The cut wasn't too bad — not nearly as horrible as I imagined when your mother called me at work. And by bathtime, that night, you were back to your cheerful self again.

Then, today, you were toddling about, back in the kitchen. And while we were both keeping our eye on the cabinets, you slipped and fell.

Bang. Crash. Right on your head.

The bump wasn't too bad. And by dinnertime you'd forgotten all about it.

Sometimes we all have "bang, crash" kinds of days. And sometimes we have two in a row. Or three. Or four.

As much as anything else in life, our bumps and bruises and cuts and scars make us who we are. But that doesn't mean you have to try to get 'em.

Let's try to stay safe today, OK?

Love,
dad