Trares
I should have seen it coming.
One minute, Anthony was crawling and clawing his way across the rope obstacle course like a pro. The next, he was holding his mouth, the tears welling in his eyes.
It was the sort of thing you watch but cannot do anything to stop — a common playground mishap. But it didn’t stop my heart from sinking.
Anthony and I had taken advantage of a break in the rainy weather midweek to take a trip to a local playground. It was one of his favorites, with plenty of netting to climb on, slides to rush down and spinning contraptions to get dizzy on.
At first, everything was great. Anthony couldn’t be kept off the rope bridges and ladders, clambering up and scooting down the slide, and doing it over and over again.
But as he tried his luck on the obstacle course, his foot slipped, sending him face-first into the thick rope webbing.
I was watching from afar but knew he was hurt. As I rushed to meet him, the tears were already falling. My fear was he hurt a tooth or bloodied his nose, but I tried to remain calm. Holding him still, I examined the injury. Thankfully, he had only scraped his gum; there was no permanent damage. Anthony was still worried, fearful that he had knocked one of his incoming adult teeth. I put my arm around his shoulder and we walked it off, keeping moving to keep his mind off the injury.
Eventually the tears stopped, but Anthony was still bummed. Our trip to the playground was soured.
I had an ace up my sleeve, something I thought would for sure lift his spirits. This particular park had a splash pad wonderland, with waterfalls, geysers, spray arches and, at the center, a short, squat waterslide.
At first, Anthony was hesitant to try.
“Maybe just one time,” he said, eyeing the slide warily.
Whatever you’re comfortable with, I told him.
He climbed the stairs and waited in line behind the other kids. Once he reached the top, he sat, readied himself and pushed off. Down he went, slipping along the wet plastic and foam padding at the bottom.
Whatever residual sadness there had been was gone, replaced with a smile lighting up his face.
“Can I do it again few more times?” he asked.
For the next 20 minutes, it was climb, slide, repeat. Anthony got more adventurous, going down in his belly and skimming on his side. Before you knew it, he’d forgotten all about his mouth.
There will be other injuries in the future, I know; almost assuredly, there will be many that no waterslide can make better. As a parent, I hate to see any pain come to my child. I can do as much as I can to prevent that pain, I know I can’t stop it all. All I can do is warn him about the dangers ahead, try to hammer home about being safe and hope that it’s nothing too serious when it inevitably happens.
Still, whenever the hurt comes, I’ll do my best to try, make it better and wipe away the tears.
Ryan Trares is a senior reporter and columnist for the Daily Journal. Send comments to [email protected].
