So Young Ben had his first real injury last week. Fortunately just a bump on the head and a cut lip so nothing too serious unless you happen to be Glen Campbell in True Grit
He has just recently started walking and uses his home as a bit of a race track pushing anything he can around the place at a great rate of knots but the corner in the hall is a bit of a hairpin bend and can prove tricky in the wet
It reminded me that when my kids were young we seemed to have a season ticket for the local A & E. They seemed to be always crashing bikes or falling out of trees or mistiming their parachute landings. I recall the staff would put their mother and I in separate rooms (always a good idea anyway) and check our stories to make sure I had not thrown them out of a tree (as if I could have got up there in the first place)
When Ben's Dad and I were discussing Ben's injury he reminded me of the time he hurt his arm playing footie with me at the park. He was in goal and I was taking a penalty. I gave it some extreme 'welly' but somehow he managed to get his wrist to it which caused him some discomfort. I did slot home the rebound as he writhed about in agony (it was a crucial point of our game) In any case his arm was not broken and personally I think the sling made him a hit with the girls at school anyway. They don't teach that kind of parenting in books. Character building is what my dad would have called it although obviously I would not let my dad take such an important penalty
I recall the first time Ben's Dad had to have stitches. He had an altercation with a young lady (definitely a sign of times to follow), but this particular young lady was older and bigger than he was and pushed him over and he split the back of his head open on the pavement. As all the king's horses and all the king's men were otherwise engaged I took him to hospital where they stitched his head. I know he strongly disagrees but I still feel those stitches hurt me more than they hurt him
My eldest son saved his major injury for his teens when in his wisdom, he and his friends decided to go to a party in Kilwinning. Kilwinning is the kind of place where your sister and your wife are one and the same person and Duelling Banjos is considered highbrow. Anyway he happened to say the wrong thing like"Hello" and ended up with severe bruising and a broken arm. The silver lining was that he has never been back to Kilwinning
My youngest son managed to break his arm jumping over a settee in his Gran's house. His landing technique was poor despite hours of practice. I recall his uncle was being married the next day and we have a photo of my sons and I resplendent in our kilts complete with 'stookie' on his arm
He saved his major injury until much later when he had a disagreement with a fence soon after passing his Driving Test. I recall arriving at the scene, seeing the state of the car and then seeing my son in the back of the ambulance with what seemed to be blood everywhere. I think it was the worst moment of my life. Fortunately it looked much worse than it was and he escaped with stitches to his arm and a good story to tell
In my own childhood I recall an instance when I was fairly young and I was attempting to reach something at high level in a friend's garage. There were some metal buckets handy and obviously the logical thing to do was balance the large bucket on top of the small one. In the words of my late father "I came a cropper" and managed to smash my nose of the rim of one of the aforementioned buckets. Stitches in your nose is never a good look but when the doctor decides to tie them off in a bow you end up like Clarence The Cross-Eyed Lion after a day or two
In my mid teens I went on a school trip to Switzerland. In our hotel they decided to house the boys and girls in different wings of the hotel separated by a common room and patrols akin to The Berlin Wall. Undeterred and probably under the influence of a bottle of local wine (Chateau Toblerone 1968) I managed to sneak into the room of a girl with whom I was smitten. She was less than thrilled and promptly ushered me out of the window. This was not a major problem as the room was on the ground floor but alas in the dark I failed to spots the stairs leading down to the cellar as I leaped (I may have been pushed) into the unknown.
It was not until the next day when I had problems putting on my shoe that it was discovered I had broken my ankle. I must say Swiss Hospitals are first class and the doctor placed a pin in my ankle to be removed once the bone had healed. The scar left by the Swiss was barely visible (I know they have a high reputation for knives and cuckoo clocks) but when they opened me up in Scotland some time later to remove the metal pin they left a scar which would have made Al Pacino proud had he made the movie 'Scarfoot'
I had to stay behind in hospital in Switzerland as they had my foot in a raised harness rather than plaster and one teacher had to stay to make the journey home with me when I was ready. Drawing the shortest of short straws I was left with Mr Bone who strangely taught Chemistry and Religious Education and had the somewhat irreverent nickname of 'Jesus' Bone. I recall we used to sing a song about him to the tune of 'Casey Jones' which under Blasphemy Laws I would prefer not to repeat here suffice to say there was mention of a Biblical Express.
The long trip home by rail and road and sea in the company of 'Je.....' sorry Mr Bone convinced me never to drink wine again and to stay away from girls' bedrooms
I will be passing some of this wisdom on to Young Ben. He is too young for wine anyway. After all he is not French.
Hopefully when he makes his first leap from a tree I will be there to cushion his fall. I believe that is what Grandpas are for
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