I Think I'm Going to Get a Scar!

“Hey dad you know on Roblox I really want to figure out a way to make it so that you can speak into a microphone and it says what I want to say on the chat and you can figure out how to do that that would be great but if you can’t I understand love Puck”

Puck had learned how to write texts by speaking into my phone, and was having a heyday with it. As we drove through Chesterfield, I heard him still talking into my phone from the back seat.

“This is from Puck. Agh. Delete. Delete. Sigh.”

A few minutes later, I took the phone back because we were at Heidi’s first volleyball game of the season. I knew Puck was interested in watching the game, but I also knew he was very much hoping to find some good loot under the bleachers.

For the first set, he was definitely getting into it.

“Hey! We’re winning!”

“We’re still winning!”

“That was pretty good!”

But after that first set, Puck stood up to go. “Okay, well, it’s over now. I guess I’ll go under the bleachers and see what’s under there.”

“The game isn’t over yet, bud.”

Concern washed over his face.

“Don’t worry. I’ll let you look under there before we go.”

Turns out, both teams kept it going into the third set, so I let Puck leave halfway through the second to scrounge around with a handful of younger buddies, to see what he could dig up.

In the end, he missed Heidi get a couple of nice hits, and he also landed himself with a small gash in his back from a sharp piece of metal under the bleachers.

“MOM!” he called, alarmed. “IS IT GOING TO GET INFECTED?!”

I assured him he would be fine. We left to find some paper towels to staunch the wound, which was probably the equivalent of ten paper cuts together, congratulated Heidi on her first game – her knee pads had also suffered under the bleachers, turning a slight shade of brown – and hit the road.

Back at the Silverspoon’s, before Spanish, Yali decided to take my blood pressure. At least, I think that’s what he was doing. He wrapped a measuring tape around my arm, pressed on it for a few seconds, then pointed to the “11-inch” mark, spoke some gibberish, then handed me a Lego hamburger. I guess my reading was too low.

By the evening, Puck examined the healing cut on his back and announced proudly, “I think I’m going to get a scar!”