It didn't take long, but my five-year old son, Logan, has officially become the man of the house.  That's right, Danger Baby is a baby no more.  What I saw from him yesterday is nothing short of amazing considering the genes he inherited.  

His face says it all. And by "it", I mean "get outta my face with that camera or I might have to do something about it". Photo by Jamie Garrett

Logan is often heard crying for one reason or another, but the tone of the cry I heard yesterday told me it was a different situation.  I was in the master bedroom on the opposite end of the house getting dressed for a trip to Lion's Junction Water Park in Temple for the family when chaos broke loose.  Both my wife & I started walking to the front of the house, but by the time we got close to turning the corner into the hallway leading to the boys' rooms the crying was only intensifying.  I quickened my pace, turned the corner and saw blood streaming down from his head while he was catching a gathering pool of blood dripping from somewhere (I couldn't even tell at this point because there was so much blood) on his head.

I immediately got him to his feet and into the nearby bathroom to have a closer look.  "Of course there are no towels in the bathroom", I thought to myself as I sent my wife running for something to help slow the bleeding.  Once she returned with the towel, with Logan still screaming, I cleared enough blood to see a deep vertical gash about an inch long over his right eye.  Deep.  Like... Nik-Wallenda-is-going-to walk-over-this-cut-on-live-television-deep.

Knowing we were about to make a trip to the ER I ran to the back of the house to get out of my water park-going clothing and made a stop in the kitchen for the first aid kit.  Aside from the occasional band aid this was the first time diving into the kit.  I found a piece of gauze and some tape that I used to cover up the wound for the trip to the hospital.  The only question now was... which hospital do I take him to?  With assurance from my wife that McLane's S & W Children's Hospital was where we were going.

Numbing up nicely. The goop is in place doing its thing. Photo by Jamie Garrett

When deciding who was going to the hospital & who was staying home, I took in to consideration that I've had stitches several different times in my life & my wife has not.  My wife also doesn't handle blood well.  That meant it was dad & Logan driving like a bat out of hell toward the hospital, only to be slowed up by typical 5 o'clock traffic on 31st St in Temple.

What amazed me about the situation is how calm Logan got & how quickly he stopped crying.  Once I told him I'd had stitches several times, that doctors know what they're doing, and that they'd have him out in no time.  "Can we still go to Lions's Junction {or Lion's Construction as he calls it} tonight?", he asked as we drove through traffic & I cursed at other drivers.  What could I say?  "We'll ask the doctor", was my cowardly response as I put the role of bad guy on the hospital staff.

When I was a kid and got stitches, I screamed like a madman from beginning to end.  I was an obnoxious, emotional wreck.  I didn't see it then.  I thought that's how to react when blood was gushing out of a cut on your body.  Not for Logan.  He manned up and didn't shed a single tear from the moment we left the neighborhood  through the entire ordeal.

You can almost see a little bit of that wonderful smile coming back once he's sewn up and ready for ice cream. Photo by Jamie Garrett

I grew up in an Air Force home, and I spent plenty of time in military hospitals from New Mexico to the Philippines.  Hours waiting to be seen for things as mild as broken limbs & blood loss was the norm.  Imagine my surprise when we got right in to a room.  Since it was the children's hospital every room had HDTVs on the walls.  This was even better than being at home!!  Aside from, you know, the injury and all.

First came the diagnosis:  Stitches were needed.  Next came the goop:  It would numb the area prior to stitches going in.  After a half-hour wait came the shots:  A needle injected into the area around AND IN the cut to numb it further.  All I got from him was a squeeze of the hand and a gasp of air.  Once the area was numb he was feeling none of what was going on up on his forehead.  He didn't take his eyes off the TV as Tom & Jerry beat each other senseless.

In & out in less than 90 minutes.  That's good business.  My son is now my hero with the behavior he exhibited during this process.  I got stitches... no, check that... I got a single stitch in my hand about five years ago, and I don't think I handled the situation any better than Logan.  In my eyes, that means he's more of a man at 5 than I am at 35, and to be honest, I couldn't be prouder.