Since my blog post about my mom cutting herself was in honor of her birthday last year, it only seems fair that I tell a story about my Dad injuring himself for his special day. It turns out that Rebecca and I both have stories of him hurting himself when we were each the same age – only these stories took place 14 years apart.
For mine, I was about four when my dad was chipping out old tile as part of a bathroom remodel. The chisel slipped and gouged his hand. I remember a lot of yelling and a towel covered in blood. Decades later when I asked him about it, he added that it had a benefit: he got some time off work as a result. My dad and his silver linings! I love that about him.
It was when we were sharing these stories, probably on a Father’s Day knowing us, that I first heard Rebecca’s story.
Evidently my dad was in charge of watching Rebecca and my brother when he went out to mow the lawn … in flip flops. Those two were not a match made in heaven, and all of a sudden he was rushing back to the house with blood everywhere.
Rebecca, being four, saw the blood and immediately ran upstairs and brought down a box of band-aids. While insufficient for the level of injury, it was quick thinking for a little girl!
When Barb got home, she took him to the hospital for stitches. Stories vary as to whether there was ever doubt all his toes were still in tact. Fortunately, it was merely a flesh wound, albeit a heavily bleeding one.
Happy birthday, Dad. I love you.
Maybe this picture of us back when I was cute (and wearing plaid pants) will make these stories funny!
Do you have any memories of your parents injuring themselves? or How on Earth will I top this story next year?!?!?!