Youngest daughter got a ball in the mouth at a game on Sunday. She went to the ground with her hand to her mouth and cried out "I'm bleeding" because her braces cut into her lips.
When your kid first gets hurt you need to wait until the ref blows the whistle and then they'll usually check them out and call over the coach if they're really hurt or crying. In my experience, the girls almost always cry. Parental involvement is minimal unless a bone is sticking out of their leg or something like that.
As a parent, you usually try to make some sort of joking remark to the other parents while your insides turn in knots wondering if your kid is ok.
When Youngest Daughter cried out yesterday she was only about 10 feet from me. I jumped to my feet, strode out on the field, scooped her up in my arms, and carried her over to the sidelines. Once there the coach and sympathetic teammates clustered around and the need for daddy involvement was done.
The reward was the look of love that she had on her face when I looked back for a smile and wave as I headed back to the parent side of the field.
Then, I realized she was looking past me and at her little boyfriend sitting on the fence instead...
Still, for a few moments on a cold and windy afternoon, she rested in my arms and was daddy's little girl. Those moments become rarer as they get older and so you learn to cherish them when they come.
Posted by bbarton at October 18, 2004 08:50 PM