Some scary words…

Back when we lived in Northern Wisconsin, we lived in a very small town. If you read some of my other blog posts, you’ll remember my description of it where everybody knew everybody. I worked for the county and was fairly known around town. I only lived a couple of blocks from the county building where I worked so it was convenient when the heavy winter snows hit. It was especially convenient when my kids were off from school.

The town was surrounded by lakes and during the winter, it provided some nice places to sled, snowboard, and generally have a good snow-filled time. My kids were pretty good at keeping themselves busy while I was at work so I never had to worry much. As is usual when things are going so well, you become complacent.

One of my son’s loved to snowboard. He pretty much liked anything that involved a board. Snowboard, skateboard, smorgasbord, and wood boards that could be used to build forts and stuff. You could say he was never bored because of all the boards…ok, that was more corny than funny…sorry. Anyway, you get the picture, he was a very active kid.

I was sitting at work with a client when my assistant interrupted us.

ASSISTANT: You have a phone call…it’s an emergency. (I grabbed the phone).

ME: This is Dazeodrew.

CALLER: This is Katie at the Texaco, your son had an accident!

ME: What? Which one? What happened?

CALLER: I’m not sure who, but he was hit by a snowmobile!

ME: WHAT?!?! BY THE TEXACO?!?!

I barely let her confirm where this was before grabbing my coat and bolting out the door. The Texaco was only a couple blocks away so I ran there as fast as I could, slipping and sliding on the ice and snow the whole way. I made it in record time and was about to run into the store when I saw the small crowd about 100 feet away along a hill by the lake. I veered toward that direction. I saw my son sitting on the slope with a towel on his head. I didn’t see a snowmobile anywhere.

ME: Are you ok? Where are you hurt? Is that blood on that towel? Where’s the bastard who hit you?

SON: Huh? (I figured he was delusional from getting hit by the snowmobile).

ME: Let’s see.

I moved the towel and saw a decent sized cut on his head. Then I checked out the rest of him.

ME: Are you hurt anywhere else?

SON: No, just my head.

Now I was puzzled. I’m no expert at people who are hit by snowmobiles…truthfully, I’ve never met one…but I assumed he would have other injuries. I just couldn’t picture the snowmobile hitting one little spot on his head. I looked around again for the snowmobile.

ME: Who hit you?

SON: Nobody hit me. I hit myself.

ME: You hit yourself with a snowmobile?

SON: Huh? (Obviously, we weren’t getting anywhere because we already went through the “huh” part).

ME: Ok, tell me what happened while we walk home and get the car.

It turned out that he had hit himself in the head with his own snowboard as he went off a jump. We drove the 20 miles to the Emergency Room in the next town and they stitched him up. Poor Katie at the Texaco was so sorry she told me he had been hit by a snowmobile. It was one of my son’s friends who ran to her for help and just rambled on about snow, blood, and please call Mr. Dazeodrew. In everybody’s defense, a snowmobile trail ran right by where they were snowboarding, so it was plausible. What was more plausible was the friend of my son’s not getting the information right…he wasn’t all there. Maybe that’s what happened to him to make him that way? Again, however, in his defense, he did the right thing by immediately seeking help.

So, now I know how I’ll react if one of my kids, or grandkids, gets hit by a snowmobile. I can picture it now…

PERSON: He got hit by a snowmobile!

ME: I got this…where in the head did he get hit?

Advertisements

Leave a Reply