Dramatically Wounded

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.Along 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.I shook my head and watched him.Finally, he reached the steps and flung himself onto his back.“Mom! I hurt my knee! I think I have gangrene!”I handed him the raspberries and went to get the band-aids.Two minutes later, he was back on his bike.Dangerously-wounded-obviously-going-to-fall-right-off knee pumping madly as he rode.Yep. Kids belong on a stage.