A Dad's-Eye View of "Emergency"

In anticipation/celebration of Father's Day:

I was talking to my brother on the phone yesterday and asked him how his son was. I'd seen my sister-in-law's status update on Facebook a couple days before saying that the kid had been to the emergency room, so I wondered what was up. Bro said it was "just a fever," and everything was fine. Then I heard him say -- and it sounded like this was more to his wife than to me -- "Well, it's not like he lost an arm or anything."

And, there you have it. It doesn't look like it's derailed Junior's future career as a professional athlete and astrophysicist, so it's all good.

I'm trying to remember one of the times I got hurt when my dad was the only parent home. They can't have been that traumatic if they're not coming immediately to mind, but I'm pretty sure there weren't a lot of offers to "kiss it and make it better." The help I got would have been more along the lines of, "Can you walk? How many fingers am I holding up? OK, then." Or, more likely (and I do remember this), "If you want, I can drop this shot-put on your foot to take your mind off that headache."

It's easy to say this is a Dad Thing, but I was actually thrown by an incident several years ago when I was visiting my grandmother. We were looking around her old attic, and when I stood up straight I sent my head right into a nail poking out of the ceiling, pointy-side-out. Impaled! Aaaaaa! Blood! Surely Granna would freak!

Nope.

She was all calm. I was kind of offended, really. I mean, what if I got gangrene and died? It's a head injury! I know I don't use my head that much, but it at least keeps me from bumping into things (nails excepted). Isn't this a big deal?

I think I may have figured out how my grandmother, who doesn't like me to go outside at night ever, and who wants me to keep my car doors locked while driving, is somehow unfazed by the nail-head combo: She's a farm girl. Her parents had a plane that they flew into town. Even when her eyesight was so bad that she was declared legally blind, she recognized an ancient piece of equipment on our property as a side-feed rake. Big-city dangers are strange to her. But if you get yourself injured at the homestead, then you drag yourself to the barn, improvise a tourniquet, and hope the hired hands don't eat all the dumplings before you hobble your way to the dinner table.

Honestly, I think it's good to have a balance of grown-ups around. One who feels your pain, one who tells you to walk it off and get on with your life.

And all of them to tell you, "If you ever do anything that stupid again, I'll kill you."