The Season of Broken Faces

I don't remember the details but the punchline sticks in my mind... so much so, in fact, that it came immediately to mind this weekend when I saw blood running out of my son's split lip. I don't remember how old I was or how it happened, but there's a family story of my dad coming into the house and saying "Therese, she broke her face." We were living in Kalamazoo, and I was one of those little girls that was always covered with dirt. There are photos albums full of me in white t-shirts smeared with grass stains and clay, my fingernails caked with black dirt. I really don't remember ever falling but I do remember dozens of stubbed toes and skinned knees and the way my mother always put me back together again.


Sam goes outside at his daycare nearly every day. Even when it's cold Jamie bundles the kids up, and Sam doesn't notice the chill as he's fascinated with the big boys who hit baseballs and ride skateboards and climb trees and slide down snowbanks. But this weekend he and I both got our first taste of hanging out in the yard together. He walked rather hesitantly on the wooden deck, not sure of the strange feel under his feet. He grabbed hold of the still-frozen green hose wound into a circle like a snake against the back of the house. He picked up rocks from the side of the driveway and tasted them before tossing them into a pile. He pointed to the tall swaying ornamental grass that he can see from inside the house and made noises of excitement. And he ran. And ran. And ran.

And with all the fun comes the falling and the stubbing of toes and the skinning of knees. Sunday it was cool in the shade so Sam was bundled up in protective of layers of fleece, but he still managed to surprise both of us. The first time he fell he tripped onto the garage floor and split his lip and blood poured onto his sweatshirt. The second time his face collided with the driveway as he ran to pick up a rock, and his face melted into tears. I picked him up and held him tight as the tears mixed with the blood running out of his nose, and I thought of my parents and the years they chased me around, balancing my need to run with their desire to keep me from breaking my face.


And so it begins for Sam and me.