Last weekend, I was at the fair and lovely Readercon, which was, indeed, both fair and lovely.*
This isn't about that.
On Thursday morning, while I was at the dentist for my six monthly cleaning, Scott called. His phone is a POS and I only heard a few words before he disappeared. Those words: Maddy.....head injury...bleeding.....paramedics.
I did what any parent would do, which is freak out a little bit.
Instead of running out of the office like my hair was on fire, I called Scott back. Turns out the words between the ones I heard were all of the modifiers like "not a serious," "like head wounds do," and "just in case."
What had happened is this: Maddy is taking the tennis and swimming lessons that our town offers every summer and we have deemed her old enough to walk by herself. She was walking from tennis to swimming, which isn't terribly far, and talking to one of her friends. There were some boys throwing rocks into the creek that's near the path. One of the boys lost control of his throw and pegged Maddy right in the noggin with it.
Her friend did exactly what a kid should do in such circumstances, which is find an adult. The adult, a lifegaurd, called 911. Etcetera.
Scott happened to be walking the Boy and the Dog down to swimming lessons when he saw the ambulance. He figured out who was injured pretty quickly, fortunately. Then called me.
I met them at the ER, where Maddy got a staple put in her head.** She was covered in blood but more or less OK by that point, if a little shakey.
After assuring myself that she was just fine, I drove home what I feel is the most important lesson from the whole incident.
"Stay away from boys," I said, "particularly those with rocks. They are untrustworthy."
She laughed, which is all I wanted.
A little later on, I left for Readercon, where the Shirely Jackson awards were held. And, yes, the confluence of the two events was not lost on me.
* I live-blogged a bit, in case you are interested in such things.
** She has made it perfectly clear that she doesn't want pictures taken, which is fine because I want to throw up a little bit when I see the staple in her head.