Crybaby

Jake has been called a crybaby a time or two. He's very sensitive, and likes everyone to know about it.

Tonight he was playing a dangerous game involving a cardboard box and a screwdriver. It's a knife throwing exercise Dad taught him. Delightful. Anyway, he comes in this evening to tell us he got hurt and he didn't even cry. He's walking around trying to find us, and we meander around trying to find him. We followed the trail of trickling blood to the living room where he was apparently going in order to rest on the couch. Ray directed him to the bathroom, while I cleaned all of the spots off of the (thank God) hardwood floor.

I came in to see how he was doing in the bathroom.

"Dad, the screwdriver bounced off my toe, then it stuck in the ground."

"Yeah son, it looks like it bounced off the bone."

"Really?" (nervous giggle).

"Yeah."

This weekend Jake drove a boat and injured himself being irresponsible with a sharp object.
I'm a bit sick at my stomach, but otherwise very very proud.