Apr 08 2008
A First and a Worst
This post is about two more firsts in my life — one just fine and one kind of scary.
Sunday afternoon, Ben and I joined He B and his son for a football game. It wasn’t NFL. Heck, it wasn’t even AFL. Nope, this was IFL.
For those I lost after the first acronym, don’t worry. Apparently the rest of the country doesn’t know about the Intense Football League, either. It exists largely thanks to Texans’ complete obsession with football — six of the nine teams hail from The Lone Star State. The rosters typically consist of former college players who wanted to keep playing football and don’t mind taking home a small paycheck for their time and trouble.
He B had scored cheap IFL tickets. Recalling the good time we had a few weeks ago at an AFL game, he had his people contact my people and we set a time to meet at his house.
Much closer than downtown Dallas, this event was held at the Dr. Pepper StarCenter’s Deja Blue Arena, a humble but clean facility near the home of the NHL’s Dallas Stars (that’s pro hockey, for all those unfamiliar with such). The Frisco Thunder was hosting the Odessa Roughnecks. Remember the high school team from the movie Friday Night Lights? Maybe you remember the cheerleader from “Heroes.” Both were from Odessa.
Ben waved his free Frisco Thunder-green hand towel and yelled, “Defense!” with a vague understanding of its meaning. I was amazed at what he picked up from his five-year-old buddy within the first few minutes after kick-off.
But enough about football for now.
With a few minutes remaining in the first half, Benjamin and I walk up the concrete steps, his hand on the rail, and find a hot dog for him and a soft pretzel for me. For Ben it is a ticket to cotton candy, and for me it is an attempt to stave off hunger.
As we walk over the numbers designating Section 103, we approach the stairs back down to our seats. “Switch hands and grab the rail, son,” I say. Benjamin shifts his foil-wrapped frankfurter into his left hand and extends his right arm up to curl his fingers over the rail. He carefully begins his descent, and I follow right behind.
My hands are full of my pretzel, our hand towels and Ben’s camera. Over one shoulder hangs my small blue camera bag, over the other my camera.
Benjamin loses his footing and falls forward. His body twists as his right hand tries to hold fast, but the combination of his small fingers and the paint-smooth rail is too much. He goes down with about 15 feet of stairs between him and a concrete wall.
I drop everything and try to get down the steep steps to catch him. He lands on his knees and his right shoulder, but that bitch gravity isn’t finished with him. Why am I not down there yet?
I watch in horror as he actually tumbles, just like in the movies. But not the funny kind. I finally reach him as he skids to a halt on his back, upside-down. Without any thought of possible injury, I immediately pick up my crying boy and set him in my lap.
“What’s hurt, Ben?”
Tears stream down his face. “My bottom,” he manages between sobs.
I hug him and say reassuring words in those tones that only parents or other caregivers know.
“Only your bottom?”
“Uh-huh,” he says, now sniffling more than crying.
We sit there a moment longer for him to calm down. “You ready to go to our seats?” I say.
“Yes.”
I get in front of Ben and turn to make sure he’s doing okay. “Now, keep your eyes on where your feet are going, not on anything else.”
He does, and when we get to our seats we calmly unwrap our food and eat. For much of the second half, Benjamin stretches out across more than his own space and rests his head on my leg. I let it go since halfway through the first quarter he had asked if we could leave.
It didn’t hit me then, but through the complicated fall, he had held on to that hot dog.
During the harrowing few seconds, I was reminded of two things I already knew:
- when walking stairs with a small child, lead going down, trail going up
- the average human is not nearly as fast as Superman
I also learned something new: handrails aren’t worth crap to a little kid who barely can reach them.
After the game ended, we joined other fans on the field and Benjamin and Son of He B enjoyed running around on the artificial turf. About a year older than Ben, Son of He B also got a few players’ autographs and posed for pictures with them. Boys at least twice Ben’s age skillfully weaved around him as they imitated plays from the game.
I kept my paranoia in check the rest of the day and stayed at a safe distance while Benjamin handled stairs by himself. He never once hesitated and hasn’t mentioned his accident since, and that’s a healthy response.
But he didn’t see it. Despite all the fun we had, I still can’t shake the image of my son rolling uncontrollably down those concrete steps. In that moment I caught my first fleeting glimpse of the uncertainty and helplessness a parent feels when a force beyond his or her control puts a child at risk.
Now I just have to keep those emotions in check and be safe without going overboard, because I know it won’t be the last time I have that feeling.
Mark, accidents happen to kids.
Heck, playing a game of lifting her off my belly after giving her a “horsey ride” when she was really small, I accidentally dislocated my daughter’s arm (but it popped right back in) after she wedged her foot underneath me once (we’d done it a dozen times to her laughter).
I think I cried worse than her. For an hour.
But kids are going to get bumps and bruises, and it’s not just going to happen, it’s a learning process for them that going down stairs is a serious thing. That concrete hurts. That Dad will ALWAYS be there to make it better.
Nobody is Superman. We’re only Dads, and never fear, you ARE a good one.
I’m just glad that hot dog survived…oh, and that Ben is fine, too. ;)
I can only imagine the terror of that moment. I’ve never ben there to see Norah tumble down the steps, but Moonshot was once. Norah barely noticed, but my wife was traumatized for days.
I remember once, a couple years ago, trying to hurd the animals into the basement during a tornado warning here in St Charles. Two cats in my arms and a tiny puppy Arlo in front of me just starting the top step down. He opted to turn around at that moment, so I blocked him with my foot and he over-corrected and tumbled backward down the steps. Actual bouncing like some sick and twisted happy-fun ball. He was fine, but I still can’t get that image out of my head.
So, I’m preparing myself as best as I can for the inevitable injuries that I will helplessly watch Norah receive. It’s one of the scarier parts of parenting, I think.
I just know that Ben’s firm grasp will save beers in the future where he saved a hot dog at the IFL game. A young man in training. (Assuming he doesn’t inherit his father’s abnormal aversion to sweet barley sandwiches.)
The scare though, that’s tough. I know it as a two-pronged sharp stick of fear in my heart. One prong for the fear of injury, maiming or sickeningly painful death inflicted upon my child; and another prong at my total inability to do anything about it but watch helplessly.
I also think it’s important at that stage not to overreact, and just let the wee one cope as best as possible so that the parents’ fears don’t get pushed onto the kids.
I can seriously throw myself into panic when I think about the possibilities of pain to my kids. I would be fine to bubble wrap my kids all day everyday if I didn’t think they would get teased and tormented. Poor Poor Ben. Give him a hug for me. And one for you Mark for being able to let him continue. I would have dropped everything off somewhere and carry him the rest. I am a big baby though.
I’m glad the Benster wasn’t hurt too badly. I know parents don’t like hearing it, but kids need to learn how to fall. I’m convinced that why we didn’t get hurt too much when we were kids.
If that had been LC, he would have somehow managed to bounce his face off of something. It doesn’t seem to matter what we do, he still manages to hit his face everytime something happens. His latest was rolling backwards off the culvert on his bike…busted lip, scraped nose. Not a scratch anywhere else. I think he may need a full-face helmet!
Markus….It’s kinda like how I used to beg for an hour for you to just come throw me three pitches, and inevitably I would line one back at your grill.
I never understood that. I never hit a pitcher in all my years of baseball, and I never hit any of my other friends with comebackers.
Maybe it had something to do with the target size?
There you go Simon. I couldn’t resist. Sorry Mark.
Dave - Ouch! Now that would have upset me much more than what happened to Benjamin at the game.
Moksha - It reminds me of that movie Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind (which I highly recommend, BTW). If only that could work, I know the two memories I would choose.
Simon - A joke about not dropping his beer flashed through my mind while writing this post, but I let it go on up to Canada. Thanks for catching it.
You should have lots of fun with two boys running, jumping, climbing, and swinging sharp things!
Amy - I tend to overreact a little, but not usually at the actual scene. I freak out later where Benjamin can’t see or hear me.
Charles - No doubt. I don’t remember falling a lot, though. I think you did that more than I did, because you were a bit more of a daredevil. We both were fairly coordinated, and that helped. Even though we flew through the air on various vehicles, motorized and not, we both had a pretty good idea what we should and shouldn’t do. After years of listening to stories from friends (and witnessing some of their shenanigans firsthand), obviously judgment goes a long way toward injury prevention.
My face did take some punishment thanks to your accurate batting. Maybe that’s why my nose is not quite right.