A Comment By Joe Lee III
It happens two or three times a year.
Many years ago, when the kids were young, it happened two or three times a month.
It happened last week.
When the phone rang I was sitting at my desk trying to convince the folks at my office that I really do some work.
“Come home right now, I need you. You’ll have to take me to the hospital!” the Boss of the House cried frantically.
I immediately left the office. During my drive home, my mind flashed back to some of the emergency calls I had responded to in the past four or five decades.
There was the time I responded to a frantic summons, arrived and discovered a bathroom full of steam and a bathtub overflowing with scalding water. Our young nieces had completely unscrewed the hot water spigot and gallons of hot water were racing into the room every minute.
Another summons involved the young nieces, who had flushed who knows what. The entire sewage system at the house had quit working! The nieces, who have now graduated from high school (one has completed college with honors), would, undoubtedly be distressed with their uncle for bringing up these incidents from long ago. At any rate, they were not visiting last week, so I could not blame them for what I was about to experience.
As I drove into the neighborhood, I remembered the time the call came as she was cutting fresh vegetables for dinner. You guessed it. Fingers must look like carrots. She tried to cut one of them off.
There was the time the BOH was having some repairs done and decided to inspect a rotting deck before the crew got to it. Yep, she fell through the deck and could not escape. Fortunately, the contractors were on the other side of the house and heard the yelling and screaming over the the noise of the power saws and such and came running to see what the commotion was. It took them about half an hour to cut her out of the old deck. My distress call came as soon as she got to the phone.
“Come home right now!” she cried. I could hear the tears through the phone.
Other emergencies included the normal events. The four-year-old daughter decided to see if she could fly like Wonder Woman. She chose to launch from the top of the toilet tank into the bathtub. That did not work out too well.
There was the time “Wonder Woman” got into the medicine cabinet and decided to take some of the pretty pills. I remember driving back from the emergency room with her mom holding the naked child out the car window as she threw up all the way home because the medicine the hospital had given her made her discharge the pretty pills. She had already thrown up all over herself, her mom, and of course, all over the car’s interior.
The five-year-old son wanted to pump gas one day. He watched the tank being filled a little too closely. We ended up at the eye doctor getting our eyes washed.
There are more stories I could tell involving the teen-age years, but I will take them to my grave.
Back to last week.
When I got home, the BOH was holding her head. She had a knot on it about the size of half a lemon. It was a big lump! She said she had slipped on the porch and collided with a glass table.
We went to the doctor. He gave her a brain scan. The scan showed nothing.
She feels pretty good now, but is sporting a big black eye.
I am telling strangers she is a professional fighter and advising:
“You should see the other guy!”