Be calm, stay calm, my child, lie low: in withered leaves the night-winds blow.
"and when Fergus
saw the pond for the first time
in the clear evening, saw its oldness down there
in its old place in the valley, he became heavier suddenly
in his bones
the way fledglings do just before they fly,
and the soft pine cracked..."
-Kinnell
It has been a rough day for my heart. My son, William, had his first haircut today. He is 19 months old. The stylist had him sit in Renee's lap to help calm him, but it didn't work. As she neared his head with the scissors, he started to cry, softly at first but steadily gaining in intensity. He clung to his mother and pressed his head as tightly as he could against Renee's chest, trying desperately to get away from the stranger touching his hair. Soon he was inconsolable, and there were tears and snot running down his face.
I asked the stylist why children cry so much during a haircut. She replied, "Someone told me that they feel like something is being taken from them." At once, it sounded like the truth. I could see him crying into his mother and thinking, "She's taking my hair! She's taking me!" He gave me a look, a look that said, "How can you stand there and let this happen to me?" And my heart almost broke.
And later this evening, my heart did break.
Fifteen minutes before his bed time, while chasing after the balloon that the stylist had given him earlier today, he fell into the stone hearth in front of our fireplace. The sharp stone edge of the hearth hit him soundly, squarely on the mouth. It knocked one of his upper front teeth loose and caused a deep cut on the inside of his lower lip. He started wailing and swallowing blood (which he vomited back up a few minutes later). His mother grabbed him up and rushed him to the bathroom to wash out his mouth so she could look at the wound. She then declared he would need stitches.
I remember hearing her, but just barely. I'm not sure what happened to me. What I remember is quickly gathering my wallet and keys and putting on my shoes so I could drive us to the hospital. I remember praying for William to be alright, but I don't remember exactly how I was feeling internally or what my emotions were. William vomited as we entered the garage, so I ran back in the house to gather up some spare clothes for him, and Renee put ice on his mouth as she strapped him into his car seat.
Roughly one minute later, we were on the road to the hospital, and I remember feeling a sudden, nearly blinding headache. The muscles in my back and neck were clinched tight like steel rods. My breathing was irregular. We were at the hospital about 6 or 7 minutes after leaving our house, by which time the bleeding had stopped. The triage nurse told us not to worry - William would be fine. All of the commotion was over a busted lip and a loose tooth. We saw the doctor who gave us some antibiotics and told us to follow up with a visit to a pediatric dentist.
But my headache never went away. I'm still feeling it. My breathing has only just now become normal again, five hours after the accident occurred. For the whole time that we were in the hospital, there was a dull ache in my chest, and I couldn't get comfortable, either standing or sitting. Renee experienced many of the same symptoms, but instead of a headache, she got nauseous. What the heck happened to me?
William was running around and playing shortly after we got to the emergency room, but Renee and I are still upset and dazed. Could it be... Could I be... one of THOSE parents? The kind that go into hysterics every time their children get a minor scrape or cut? Growing up, I had so many brushes with death that most of my friends are surprised I survived to adulthood. Most of the time, my parents just brushed me off and sent me back out to play. When I was in the third grade, I walked around with a broken arm for two weeks before I finally complained enough for someone to think, "You know, his arm might be broken. We should take him to the doctor." How did I turn into an over-protective father? I can't even look at William when he smiles now because it shows the swollen and bloody gum around his damaged tooth. It hurts me too much to see it.
What do these children do to us?
saw the pond for the first time
in the clear evening, saw its oldness down there
in its old place in the valley, he became heavier suddenly
in his bones
the way fledglings do just before they fly,
and the soft pine cracked..."
-Kinnell
It has been a rough day for my heart. My son, William, had his first haircut today. He is 19 months old. The stylist had him sit in Renee's lap to help calm him, but it didn't work. As she neared his head with the scissors, he started to cry, softly at first but steadily gaining in intensity. He clung to his mother and pressed his head as tightly as he could against Renee's chest, trying desperately to get away from the stranger touching his hair. Soon he was inconsolable, and there were tears and snot running down his face.
I asked the stylist why children cry so much during a haircut. She replied, "Someone told me that they feel like something is being taken from them." At once, it sounded like the truth. I could see him crying into his mother and thinking, "She's taking my hair! She's taking me!" He gave me a look, a look that said, "How can you stand there and let this happen to me?" And my heart almost broke.
And later this evening, my heart did break.
Fifteen minutes before his bed time, while chasing after the balloon that the stylist had given him earlier today, he fell into the stone hearth in front of our fireplace. The sharp stone edge of the hearth hit him soundly, squarely on the mouth. It knocked one of his upper front teeth loose and caused a deep cut on the inside of his lower lip. He started wailing and swallowing blood (which he vomited back up a few minutes later). His mother grabbed him up and rushed him to the bathroom to wash out his mouth so she could look at the wound. She then declared he would need stitches.
I remember hearing her, but just barely. I'm not sure what happened to me. What I remember is quickly gathering my wallet and keys and putting on my shoes so I could drive us to the hospital. I remember praying for William to be alright, but I don't remember exactly how I was feeling internally or what my emotions were. William vomited as we entered the garage, so I ran back in the house to gather up some spare clothes for him, and Renee put ice on his mouth as she strapped him into his car seat.
Roughly one minute later, we were on the road to the hospital, and I remember feeling a sudden, nearly blinding headache. The muscles in my back and neck were clinched tight like steel rods. My breathing was irregular. We were at the hospital about 6 or 7 minutes after leaving our house, by which time the bleeding had stopped. The triage nurse told us not to worry - William would be fine. All of the commotion was over a busted lip and a loose tooth. We saw the doctor who gave us some antibiotics and told us to follow up with a visit to a pediatric dentist.
But my headache never went away. I'm still feeling it. My breathing has only just now become normal again, five hours after the accident occurred. For the whole time that we were in the hospital, there was a dull ache in my chest, and I couldn't get comfortable, either standing or sitting. Renee experienced many of the same symptoms, but instead of a headache, she got nauseous. What the heck happened to me?
William was running around and playing shortly after we got to the emergency room, but Renee and I are still upset and dazed. Could it be... Could I be... one of THOSE parents? The kind that go into hysterics every time their children get a minor scrape or cut? Growing up, I had so many brushes with death that most of my friends are surprised I survived to adulthood. Most of the time, my parents just brushed me off and sent me back out to play. When I was in the third grade, I walked around with a broken arm for two weeks before I finally complained enough for someone to think, "You know, his arm might be broken. We should take him to the doctor." How did I turn into an over-protective father? I can't even look at William when he smiles now because it shows the swollen and bloody gum around his damaged tooth. It hurts me too much to see it.
What do these children do to us?