I had a run-in with a basketball the other day at my son’s basketball practice. It was a freak accident where an errant ball came straight down on an unsuspecting thumb while I was engaged in some scintillating discussion of which I now have no memory. The shock and pain were so intense I had to stand up and sit down literally three times just to occupy the rest of my body lest I roll into writhing fetal position on the gym floor.
Two days later, I still can’t button my own shirts. I have, of course, been whining about my sudden infirmity to my kids. In the car, hearing again of my challenges, my 6 year old boy had wise words of advice, “Daddy, just use your other hand. That’s what I do. I use my right hand because my left hand doesn’t work that good.”
He was so generous and loving in dispensing his wisdom gleaned from his six trips around the sun. I couldn’t stop laughing several times during the day as I remembered it.