Seeing Riley at the park makes me afraid. Very afraid. Of the kind of dare devil she will become given enough time. There is just nothing resembling trepidation, fear or even logic to hold her back. I never broke a bone when I was a kid. Except for a pinky finger. And that was a fluke more than anything. I was the goalie in soccer and somebody wasn’t wearing runners. Somebody was wearing steel-capped boots. And as I went to pick up the ball they kicked at the same time. Very unpleasant. By the way, somebody isn’t a glib way of referring to a person I know – I actually can’t remember. I’ve blocked out most of high school. I do remember learning the hard way that ice on a broken bone is a bad idea. And that somebody who tells you that it’s not a broken bone – it’s just a fracture is really looking for trouble. And that it is incredibly difficult to write with a broken pinkie finger or write anything legible with my left hand.
Hopefully these are not lessons that Riley will need to learn but let’s just say I won’t be surprised if her childhood leads to a broken bone here or there.
Also? Vote for me on Babble! I’m a fragile creature and I crave the reassurance.
Pages: ‘, ‘after’ => ‘
‘, ‘next_or_number’ => ‘number’)); ?>