“Is that blood?!?” I asked Tex as he sauntered up our front walk.
“How’d you know?” He responded, smiling proudly down at the blotches and streaks of brown on his shirt.
Life experience has taught me what blood looks like on clothing, but I didn’t say this out loud to Tex because he would’ve asked twenty questions that I would have refused to answer.
“Good Lord, child. What happened to you?”
“We was playing the Getting Hit in the Head Game and I got hit.”
Yeah, I’m familiar with that game. I like to refer to it as the potential Massive Head Wound Game. Again, I kept this to myself.
He showed me the BB-sized hole in his noggin and told me that Joel had "done patched him up real good." For the record, our neighbor Joel is working on his nursing degree (his wife is already a nurse), so he and/or his wife are my pick to patch up a bleeding child.
Once I got a good look at Tex for other wounds (nothing but the usual old scabs that boy children tend to forever seem to have about their bruised knees and ankles), Tex leapt off the porch to play chase again with the neighbor kids, completely oblivious to the heart attack he had just almost caused me to have.
Some days I just can’t think straight.