The day before, we were out touring Boston. The NHL playoffs are going down, and those Boston folks take their hockey seriously. As for me, I am no longer a hockey fan (for obvious reasons like towing/police mishaps). A Bruins game had just finished, so there were thousands of fans out cruising the streets in their black and yellow. My sister, while an avid football fan, does not appreciate hockey...or baseball. Sad stuff. She is in the middle of a story when she notices all of the hockey fans sporting their replica jerseys.
Rylee: "What city do the Bruins play for?"
Seriously Ry, we are in Boston.
Porter: "Ummm, Boston..."
We all bust up laughing at her.
Rylee: "Well how am I supposed to know, I don't watch baseball!"
Shame. SO. MUCH. SHAME.
I turned to my mom and said, "How does it feel to have raised that?"
I shouldn't have teased my mom over Ry's momentary sports lapse. Turns out, I'm not very good at teaching kids myself. We have learned that kids, when they turn about 3, finally figure out Porter is missing his arm.
Just yesterday, my cousin Gibbs noticed it for the first time. Instead of telling him what happened, my Aunt Trish told him that her other son took Porter's arm. Little Gibbs marched out of the room with his hands on his hips determined to bring back that missing limb. Pretty soon, he got distracted and found jumping on the trampoline to be way more fun than figuring out where Porter's arm actually was.
I wish I would have figured out the art of distraction earlier. Just a week before Gibbs' inquiry, my niece Lillian asked me how Uncle Porter lost his arm. I tried breaking down a brachial plexus injury as best as I could to her. She nodded her head when I finished up, so I thought she understood. I was pretty proud of myself for explaining such a complex subject to a small child.
Not so fast, Car. You aren't as good as you thought.
Lillian had a little cousin come up to her right after we finished talking.
Cousin: "Wait, Lilly...what happened to his arm?"
Lillian raises her little hands up and curls her fingers to make claws.
Lillian: "Monsters. They ate his arm off."
For all of you parentals out there...any advice on how to handle this in real life? One day, in the far off future, we will have our own youngsters asking us where Dad's arm is and I don't know if it's a good idea to let them tell the kids at school that a monster ate it. (Sorry Nancy, I may have already messed things up for Lilly...)
Until next time,