This is a story about my little newphewling. Nephew2 is three years old and he’s all boy! He’s got four older sisters but doesn’t let that deter him – he’s into everything and running everywhere like a tazmanian devil and he’s just generally a bundle of happy joyful energy. I swear if we could harness his energy, we’d make millions.
So last Sunday night, as the troops were headed to get ready for bed, he went running into the living room, tripped in the doorway, and his head became closely acquainted with the wood trim on the sofa. Blood and noise and screams were everywhere, and my brother (who happens to be an EMT) came running and took over from his highly capable but quite pregnant and somewhat shaken wife. Strangely enough, even with their giant brood (she’s expecting their seventh), bloody accidents aren’t often a part of their life.
But back to the scene we left: JJ’s in charge of the situation now, Nephew2 is calming down, and the cut is the the length of the little guy’s eyebrow. They ride in the ambulance (which Nephew2 loved – especially the siren!), and arrive at the hospital in pretty good spirits, but Nephew2’s a little worried about the treatment his eyebrow will get. JJ had told him the doctor would probably not even have to do stitches, but would just use special glue to fix it all up. Nephew2 isn’t crazy about the idea.
The nurse comes in to get him cleaned up and ready for the doctor, and after she leaves the room, Newphew2 looks up at my brother and says, “She’s preeetty!” JJ tells him he should let her know. She comes back in the room, and JJ says, “Isn’t there something you wanted to tell the nurse?” Newphew2 goes all shy, ducks his head, then turns his big ol’ blue eyes on her and says, with all the honesty and sincerity of childhood, “You’re pretty.” He may only be three, but he is my brother’s son… Girls better watch out when he gets a little bigger – he’s already stealing hearts left and right!
The doctor comes in to check things out and decides he needs stitches. Nephew2’s response? “No glue in my eye!” The doc laughs and says no glue, but it’ll be stiches and they’ll only hurt a little bit. Newphew2, relieved, says “Good! No glue!” Seven stitches later, he was still chatting away with the doctor and nurses, happy as a clam that no glue was applied to his face.
That was all Sunday night, and according to his mom he was running around full tilt as early as Monday morning. Last night at church, I was ooohing and ahhhing over his bravery and his bandage and what a big handsome boy he is, and saying all those things that aunties say to their niecelets and nephewlings (I swear, I’m putty in their tiny little hands). He looked up at me, his bandage covering his eyebrow and most of his eye, planted his hand on his hip, squared his shoulders, puffed his chest out and said, “Hey, look! I’m a Pirate!”
Child, to say the very thing you really mean, the whole of it, nothing more or less or other than what you really mean; that’s the whole art and joy of words. ~ C.S. Lewis (Till We Have Faces: A Myth Retold)