Tonight I was tucking something back into the fridge after dinner. When I straightened up I whacked my head hard on the freezer door handle. The three youngest kids were in the kitchen with me, and they were all very solicitous. Joe raced upstairs to bring me a triangle bandage, which he draped fetchingly across my head to make me laugh. (It's a family joke based on this story: when my fourth son beaned my second son with a flashlight while I was out buying nit combs, my first son said, "I know first aid!" Except he might have been distracted when the instructors were defining direct pressure.)
After Joe had brought me ice and established that I had not in fact concussed myself, he asked me gravely if I needed a neck tourniquet.
It's probably a good thing he's not planning to be a doctor.
(I love it, though, that he has absorbed my #1 strategy for helping people who have painful but non-serious lumps on their heads: if you can make them laugh, you're halfway to making them feel better.)
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