Truth Time

Taryn and John had a dinner conversation today that was eerily familiar. I remember telling little lies to my parents. I also remember when, years later, I came clean about those lies. There is a certain amount of pleasure that teens get out of knowing they pulled one over on their parents.

I’m ok with that.

John went through a bone-breaking phase in the fourth and fifth grade. It started at camp, he broke a finger playing flag football. The worst part of this was that we were stationed in Savannah, GA at the time. The hospital was 45 minutes away at Fort Stewart in Hinesville. I had to drive down there, several times, with infant twinkies. So that sucked.

I guess it also sucked for John, since his finger was broken and all. Whatever.

The next time he broke a bone was just a few months later. I was home alone with (still) infant twinkies. Dallas was away on temporary duty. John and Taryn came running in from the playground. He was crying and had clearly broken his arm. I had to take Taryn and one of the twinks to a friends’ house and the other twink to another friends’ house. I felt bad leaving anyone with both.

I’m over that now.

Anyway, we went to the local ER and John told the Doctor that he had jumped off some playground equipment. Jumped, not fell. He repeated this story at all of our subsequent visits to the orthopedist.

Nope, that’s not what happened.

Apparently, he was trying to jump from a platform over to the monkey bars and he missed. He was only in the 5th grade, so I have to forgive him for doing something so obviously stupid.

However, I don’t forgive him for the explanation he gave tonight.

He said, “Well, you know, I thought I could get hurt. So, I put on my bike helmet before I did it.”

So. Stupid.

Shortly after that healed he broke his hand. It was what they call a ‘boxers break.’ Yes, he got it trying to hit another kid. He missed and hit the kid in the back of the head. Allegedly, the other child had spat on John. There were lots of kid politics in the neighborhood. This is the worst it got. Lucky for all of us.

At least, that is what they told me then.

Tonight John said, “Now that I look back I think I might have hit a pole.”

Nope, that’s not what happened.

I think he would have remembered hitting a pole. Mostly because the kid in question was a girl. Yes, he hit a girl. He was 10. She was a very mean little girl. I’m not going to say she deserved it, I’m just going to say she was a nasty kid. And she was bigger than my little boy, did I mention that?

We put the hammer down for hitting a girl though. So he can’t go back now and say it was a pole. (Although I think that girl was as dumb as one.)

I can see why he wants to remember it that way. I like to remember it as him hitting the big, mean, (and male) neighborhood bully.