On a gorgeous fall drive with two of our young grandkids we stop at a park to play. Fresh air. Colourful leaves. Blue Alberta sky. And a backpack full of snacks. A perfect outing.
The
kids run and jump and swing through the playground. In no time at all, I have
5,000 steps and only three near heart attacks at the hanging upside down
antics.
Just
as I begin to video our granddaughter as she hurtles down a zip-line, our
grandson, who is only three years old and too short for the ride, lets out a
scream. Not just any scream - a full out anyone-within-a-mile-can-hear-him kind
of scream.
I
bend over in time to see him swipe a wasp off his pinky finger. Tears streak
down his face as he sticks his hand in the air.
Even
without reading glasses on I can see the stinger, with a blob of venom attached
to it, sticking out of a small cut right above his pudgy knuckle. I pull the
stinger out and lift it to my eyes. The venom sac still clings to the sharp
barb. It’s kind of cool to see but another scream brings me back to my
grandson’s finger.
Hugs
can’t console him and people start to stare. I’m sure they think the tyke has
fallen victim to some enormous travesty set upon him by me. I give the staring
people a pleading look to tell them, “I’m doing my best.”
“Let’s
go to the car and get a band aid,” Grampa says.
“Stick his finger in your mouth.”
I
look at my grandson’s dirty hand.
“It
was a wasp sting not a snake bite,” I say.
“It’ll
distract him.”
I
pick up the tyke and put his finger in my mouth knowing I’m doomed. No amount of hand-sani
can’t save me now.
Once
his finger is in my mouth, the screaming stops. When it starts up again, it’s
not as loud. I suck on the finger. The scream turns into snotty sobs.
At
the car, I set him on the tailgate and pour water over the sting while grampa searches
for a band aid. Candles, old granola bars, blankets, masks and gloves
(thanks covid) pile up beside us. Not one band aid.
Grampa digs through his emergency car repair kit. “Look what I found.” He holds up the tiniest silver hose clamp. “It’s a superhero ring for a brave little boy.”
Our grandson’s eyes go big. “Really?”
Grampa
nods a very serious grampa nod. He takes the injured pinky and ever so gently,
puts the hose clamp over the red mark.
All
the way home our grandson holds his hand in the air.
“I got a superhero ring.” He waves it at his sister. “Because I’m brave.”
What About Me?: Sequel to Summer of Lies : Baker,
Barbara: Amazon.ca: Books
Summer of Lies: Baker, Barbara:9780228615774: Books -
Amazon.ca
Barbara
Wackerle Baker (@bbaker.write)
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Cute event and save. I can see the event happening in a story.
ReplyDeleteThank you.
DeleteWhat a lovely event to remember. Smart grandfather. Love the "ring." Maybe something that can seep into a book someday. Thanks for sharing.
ReplyDeleteSo sweet! It's wonderful to savor those moments.
ReplyDeleteThere are so many moments with the little people. Thanks for reading it.
DeleteSo sweet! It's wonderful to savor those little moments.
ReplyDeleteexcellent writing skills, as usual, by Barb Baker !!
ReplyDelete