Growing Pains

It was Father's Day Eve and everything was wonderful. Tennis in the morning with Ian. A game of Small World in the afternoon. Ping-pong with the kids. Beer from the microbrewery down the road. We were just about to order food from the Malaysian place-- roti and noodles and curry-- and I was absolved from pick-up duty.

I was passing the time before we ordered food by playing low-stakes online Texas Hold'em in my man-cave/music studio. The action was great-- all the Dads were drunk and betting like old-time cowboys. I was raking it in.

Then I heard breaking glass-- car-crash in a movie breaking glass-- and a scream. A slasher-movie scream.

I ran up from my study.

Catherine and Ian were in the kitchen. Ian was screaming, and Catherine had his bloody wrist under the sink.

When Ian came in the house, he pushed the rounded center glass pane of the inner door and his hand went right through. It was humid and the door was swollen and stuck.

Glass was everywhere.

He cut his wrist, but he was extremely lucky. He missed all the tendons and veins. So we didn't have to go to the emergency room.

It was hard to remain calm. Why was he pushing on the glass to open the door? Ian endured the lecture, and perhaps learned a valuable lesson (why do they always have to learn these lessons the hard way?) This is what teenagers do. Ian is about to grow-- his arms are long and his feet are huge but he still weighs 99 pounds. He's weird and gangly and just starting to gain a little bit of strength.

The other day, when he was serving, his new tennis racket flew out of his hand, hit the concrete and cracked. He didn't tell us because he thought we would be angry. I actually stayed calm and we ordered a new racket. We're lucky we can afford it (although we did make him pay for half . . . he needs to replace his grip tape more often, another lesson learned the hard way).

After a major clean-up-- involving a mallet, the vacuum, the dustpan and broom, and lots of wet rags-- we removed the glass from the floor and the door. I threw some duct tape around the frame and maybe we'll fix it (or maybe not . . . it's probably safer this way). We wrapped Ian's arm with gauze and a bandage and ordered the food.

Father's Day itself was less eventful.

I got a Fitbit! This thing is amazing. It has a touchscreen, it tracks steps, has GPS, shows me how far and fast I've run, maps it, and displays my heart rate. Sixty bucks! It's a refurb. I'm living in the future . . . 2012 or so?

I got to drink more local beer, I played more ping-pong with the kids (Ian played left-handed) and we went and saw my parents and wished my Dad Happy Father's Day. Ian's cut stopped bleeding, and we had an epic corn-hole/washer match: my brother and Alex vs. me and Ian. We lost the rubber match but Ian held his own left-handed.

My other Father's Day gift is on the way, a real wooden cornhole set. Ian has promised to paint something excellent on it as soon as his wrist heals.