My high school awarded me a trophy in 1993 for um, I don’t remember exactly, but something like oustanding achievement in the field of excellence. Which was nice at the time. I got a certificate and a silvery goblet.
Tonight, I kinda wish they hadn’t bothered.
The much tarnished trophy is now sitting in this room, allowing me to cast dark glances at it and mutter. It was located on a kind of mantle above a sliding door outside our bathroom. Daniel was shutting the door—he enjoys opening and shutting things—not even slamming it really. And that’s when the aforementioned goblet fell and clocked him a good one.
I was on the other side of the door. In the bathroom. I think this qualifies as one of those situations where you don’t want to be caught naked—but are. Well, that pales into insignificance really…
One horrible accident. Two hours at the GP. Three stitches. Four stressed family members—it must be quite an ordeal for a two year old. It’s not too easy on a big brother, nor a mother or father.
I’m just glad we’re all OK. Good onya Daniel, what a little trooper you were! And thanks to the doctor, what a nightmare it must be to stitch up a kid’s scalp. Now to find a suitably dark closet to put that darn goblet in.
Ben Boyle lives here! 