“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.
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