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| My little soldier. |
My kids belong on a stage.
Case in point:
It was a hot, sunny, summer afternoon.
We sometimes get those in Edmonton.
Seven-year-old Erik was riding his bike on the sidewalk.
Next to a street that closely resembled the frenetic scramble
of frantic ants when someone has stirred up their nest.
Dozens of neighbourhood kids of every size and variety screamed/shouted/laughed.
Scenarios were being enacted.
Dares carried out.
Counter-dares being proposed.
And through it all, Erik rode his bike serenely up and down.
Up and down.
Up and . . . oops.
Right at the foot of our neighbour’s lawn, in an effort to
avoid a collision, he turned.
And toppled off his bike.
I had just come to the door, carrying a bowl of
freshly-washed raspberries to offer
as a mid-afternoon snack. I watched him go down.
In slow-motion.
Scraping one knee.
He rolled onto his back and, for several seconds, lay there.
Then he looked up at me. “Mom!” he shouted. “I fell!”
“I saw you!” I called back. “Come on! Let’s get you fixed
up!”
Slowly, he rolled over onto his stomach. Then, with kids
running back and forth and even leaping over him, started crawling – crawling –
up the lawn toward me.
Dragging his wounded leg.
He looked like a soldier crossing a battlefield.
My little cardboard
soldier.
I shook my head and watched him.
Finally, he reached the steps and flung himself onto his
back, now looking thoroughly trounced.
“Mom! I hurt my knee! I think I have gangrene!”
I handed him the raspberries
and went to get the bandaids.
Two minutes later, he was back on his bike.
Dangerously inflamed, obviously-going-to-fall-right-off knee pumping madly as he rode.
Yep. A stage.
Every week, Delores of Under the Porch Light posts a six-word prompt for her neophytes. 'Do or die!' she tells us.
I did.
This week's words: Cardboard, variety, raspberry, trounced, inflamed, gangrene
