Member-only story
My Worst Father’s Day Experience
The difference between shame and guilt.
A couple of years ago, on Father’s Day of all days, my 5-month-old son rolled off our bed and bumped his head.
Being the spectacular parents we weren’t, my wife and I were in different rooms. All I heard was the almighty whack of my son’s skull smacking the bedroom floor.
I immediately ran in and found him lying on the floor, screaming his little cotton socks off. With my heart in my feet, I picked him up and examined him for any signs of concussion.
There were none. However, I found a small bump on the side of his head. It took him an unusually long time to stop crying.
Of course, my wife and I were dreadfully paranoid, so we decided to err on the side of caution and take him to the emergency room.
To be safe — because the doctor couldn’t talk to the little guy — he decided to do a CAT scan. He reassured us this was just a precaution and that he showed no signs of concussion.
Several hours had passed by this stage, and he was back to his bubbly, lovely self. We also felt marginally better about our station as parents.
So, we waited for the results, expecting to be sent home with a stern warning from the doctor not to be so stupid in the future.
