After a lot of occupational therapy to get over some serious sensory issues, my six year old son is no longer afraid to touch anyone. He’s also not real shy about it. When his sister started playing soccer and softball a few years ago, I would take him to practices where he would approach any Mom who paid him any mind and would begin rubbing her legs or arms. Not to mention, he would inevitably try to rub her chest as well.

Thanks to some good fortune, last week our family got a Wii. What does a Wii have to do with chest rubbing? Well, I’ll get to that.

Aside from the fact that we warned the kids not to hurt themselves while playing their new video games…okay, that was after I pulled a shoulder muscle while bowling…we also told them never to touch buttons if they don’t know what they mean. Because, so help me, if someone wipes out my Guitar Hero standings and I have to start over, it’s not going to be pretty.

So, back to the chest rubbing…

Tonight, when I was folding laundry, my son saw one of my bras and asked, “Mom, is this for boobies?”

I replied, “Yes. Yes, it is.”

Then, I realized we stressed being careful with the Wii a little too hard when he said, “And, I never, ever, ever touch private parts like boobies…and I never, ever press reset on the Wii either.”

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Almost a month ago, my six year old son’s fingertip was smashed in a door and cut off. He was taken to the hospital, where the tip was reattached and we were told there was a 50/50 chance of it taking. It didn’t.

Last week, after the doctor told us the tip would eventually fall off like a big scab, I explained to my son that his finger may look a little funny when all is said and done. He seemed a bit freaked out by the word “scar”…thanks a lot Lion King…so I had to think fast to reassure him.

I pulled up my left pant leg and pointed to a scar on my shin, where thanks to a menacing 7th grade bully, I had the most painful wound of my life.

I had just entered 8th period science class, and was approaching the teacher’s desk which was perched on a stage with metal trim all around the top edge. As I was passing said bully, he stuck his foot out and tripped me. At the place where two metal pieces joined together to form a perfect point, my skin was pierced. I fell, shin first, into the corner of the stage. The hole it left went nearly to my bone.

I then showed him the bottom of my foot. My family had been tearing down my Grandmother’s garage, when I stepped down onto a board that had a long nail sticking out of it. The nail went through the sole of my shoe, right into my heel. My cousin and I went to the emergency room together, because shortly after I pulled off my bloody sock, she swung an axe directly into her shin.

After that, I displayed the mark on my right forearm where I once slashed myself with a wallpaper scraper. It left quite a scar, because instead of going for stitches I wrapped up the wound with paper towels and duct tape.

I explained to my boy, that although these things hurt at one time, the scars they left behind don’t hurt me at all now. But, by the look on his face, I don’t know if I reassured him or frightened him even more.

Because I like to twinge in discomfort…tell me folks, what was your most painful injury?

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What would you do if you were really trying to raise your children to be kind, respectful, compassionate human beings, and your six year old son sees two Muslim women at the doctor’s office with head scarves, then he mistakes those head scarves for bandannas…and calls them both pirates?

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Tomorrow is my son’s sixth birthday. When he was born, we didn’t know if he would live, so his birthday is a true celebration.

The boy who came into this world seven weeks early, is now the master procrastinator. He will wait until the last minute to eat, get dressed, and my personal favorite…pee.

The boy who was barraged with needles and tubes, and who hated to be touched or held because he feared it would be painful, now greets his friends with hugs each day.

The boy who we never thought would talk, now sings and reads bedtime stories to us.

The boy who didn’t walk until he was almost two, now runs, climbs, plays, and gives me heart palpitations when he jumps off the furniture.

The boy who never wanted to eat, who gagged, choked and often vomited on his food, is now an unstoppable eater. We call his stomach the bottomless pit.

The boy with the defective heart, now has more energy than his parents.

The boy who frustrated me, now makes me laugh. The boy who failed in everything he tried to do, now can do anything. The boy who was weak, has taught me what real strength really is.

Happy Birthday Boo. We are blessed that you were born.

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