While picking the kids up from school and riding our bikes home, Intuitive Monkey took a spill that nearly stopped my heart. He had the privilege of being in the front of our bike caravan, something in which he takes immense pride. Before I knew what was happening, I saw his bike crash and flip over onto him, his body laid out on the rough sidewalk. I jumped off my bike and rushed over to him, imagining broken bones, spinal injuries, and knocked out teeth.
Luckily, none of those had occurred, but he had several severe scrapes on his arm and hands. Bright red blood streaked his flesh, causing hysterical screams and overall panic from him whenever he looked at his ripped-up skin.
We were halfway home. After spending a minute calming him down and checking to make sure there really weren't any broken bones, I tried to convince him that we should bike slowly home, being very careful. It was too much for him and we had to abandon our bikes and walk the rest of way.
Once home, I rummaged through the bathroom cabinets for all the first aid paraphanalia; bandages, tape, and Bactine--which I didn't wind up using because I was afraid of what would happen when the spray made contact with his open sores. As soon as there was no longer any sight of blood seeping out of his body, he felt much better and began quizzing me about the various injuries I had when I was his age.
"Did you ever crash your bike?"
"Did you ever get any scrapes like these?"
"Is this worse than what happened to you?"
"Well, one time I broke my arm when I crashed my bike."
"Well, this must be the second-worst thing that ever happened on a bike!"
It's always good when the screaming stops and the conversation has moved on to bragging rights about injuries.