We had a "first" in our family this past weekend. We've had kids hanging around the house for about 18 years now. In that time, naturally, there have been visits to the emergency room. Lots of them were asthma-related. Other times were the result of typical kid behavior. Our oldest son, Alex, made a trip to the ER when a rocking chair collapsed under the two of us. He didn't even have a bump on the noggin but, as a new father, I had some internal bumps on mine.

Years later, when Samantha was about five, she was outside kicking a ball around when she tripped over it and came to the door with a huge lump on her arm. She wasn't crying, just confused. Our next-door-neighbor, at the time, was a nurse and she said to get the would-be soccer star to the emergency room. It didn't look broken but it was.

About a half dozen years later, Taylor was really into skate-boarding. On a Saturday, as we were getting ready to go to see the Royals play the Cardinals, Taylor was supposed to be getting in the car. Instead, he decided to take a few spins on his board...trying to do tricks off the base of the basketball hoop. He came walking in the door with a look of panic on his face and an arm dangling precariously. No question, this time, about the break. His big brother was very concerned: "Oh, no! Does this mean we're not going to the game!?!?!? AAAAAAHHH!" Turns out Taylor is pretty resistant to pain-killers and such. He tried to explain to those working on him that whatever they had given him was not making a difference. One doctor looked at me and chuckled, "I think that's the medication talking." I explained that I got the sense that Taylor was not loopy at all and really was feeling the pain. Well, just before they were about to straighten his arm, he was told by most of the attending folks that it wouldn't hurt too much as they had given him some numbing stuff. Taylor looked at me and asked "Will this hurt?" I told him the truth: "Yes. It will." It did. The kicker on this broken tale is that within days of having gotten his cast off, he broke it again. We had told him not to get back on the skateboard. I think our actual words were "We'd better not see you cruising up and down the street on that thing!" Well, this particular child is a stickler for details...especially when he can use them to his advantage. (He's the one that went to that debate camp I mentioned a few days back.) With this child, you need to say exactly what you mean. Well, he didn't "cruise up and down the street." He had been standing on the skateboard in the garage...on his "half-pipe," which was a ramp-like thing...just rolling back and forth. Kerplop! In he came with his arm, again, just hanging there. The look on his face was not panic or pain or fear. It was complete disbelief. Off we went to the ER.

We paid a call on the ER one other time when my wife broke her big toe. I'm not going to tell you how she did it except to say that I am no longer allowed to carry anything in my back-pockets.

All this brings us to our "first." It happened on Saturday night. The youngest boy, Harrison, was playing outside with the neighbor kids. Around 9:00 p.m. or so, my Kreskin-like wife, got up from the sofa and said "I think I'd better check on Harrison." As she approached the front door from the inside, Harrison came running up from the outside. He was holding his hand to his forehead and had blood all over his neck, shirt and pants. His first words were "If this means I can't go to the Royals game tomorrow I'm going to be so mad!" (Again, a trip to the emergency room right before a trip to Kauffman Stadium...just a coincidence? Hmmmm.) Well, Harrison had a good-sized gash in his noodle. It wasn't very long, but it was a little deep. My wife, daughter (who loves anything medical) and I got the boy in the van, holding a towel on the wound. He never cried. He wasn't scared. He was just angry. He had gotten too close to another boy who was swinging a baseball bat back and forth. Harrison had a little goose-egg but not the worst one we've ever seen. Once, while playing "Toboggan Trail" by flying down the driveway in their wagon, Harrison had flown out and had received a much larger bump. Taylor once tried to do an Evel Knievel with his Big Wheel and raised a nob the size of Mount Hood...a goose egg deserving quite a gander. This was mainly a cut.

It only took seven stitches. Our very first stitches! In 18 years and four kids! Of course, that distinction made Harrison very happy. All the talk about salves and ointments aimed at "minimizing" scarring fell on deaf 11 year-old ears, too. Hey, if you're going to take a shot to the head with a bat, you want something to show for it. He's been using the wound effectively around the house. Ask him to put the dishes away or fold some laundry and he'll say "Not sure I'm up to that..." then point, plaintively, to his head.

Of course, we are very grateful that it was just a minor cut and that we had great folks waiting for us in the emergency room. Meanwhile, Harrison is eager to get the stitches out and be able to show off his battle scar. Until then, he'll keep wandering around the house, avoiding chores and singing, like the monster in Young Frankenstein, "Puttin' On The Ritz!"