I cannot believe that I left out the very most important part of the story regarding Hank and the tale of the super mean German Shepherd.
So there we were, sitting in the ER. After several hours and a good cleaning, that wound just looked bad. Not big, but deep. A gash, if you will. The child asked several times if he needed stitches, and all I could say was, “I just don’t know.” Hank is one of those kids who just HATES the doctor. He cries during school shots as if he’s been stabbed in the heart with a dull spoon, and no amount of promises of ice cream or action figures can calm his little nerves.
So after the nurse cleaned his wound and Hank realized that the doctor was next in, he started to shake. And shudder. And cry. Knowing that there was nothing I could promise, nothing I could say, no amount of hugs or kisses that would soothe my first-born, I pulled out the only trick I could think of:
“Use the force,” I said.
Dudes, it worked. He closed his eyes and said, “Focus.” Then, he promptly stopped crying, and smiled.
My kid is a freaking Jedi Knight.