Parental Editing

Precocious Daughter is hobbling around on crutches due to her broken toe. The toe I insisted was not broken but was later x-rayed and found to be proof that I'm a terrible mother.


Damn good thing there were no wire hangers involved.

PDaughter isn't too happy on her crutches. If you've ever had to use them, you know the litany of complaints: Her hands hurt, her shoulders are sore, the skin under her arms is rubbed raw. Despite my established terribleness, it sort of breaks my heart to see her so uncomfortable.


She's like Tiny Tim, only less Victorian, male, and crippled for life.

I commiserated with PDaughter on the miseries of crutches. I told her that when I was a freshman in college, I sprained my ankle, and I had to navigate not just one school building on crutches but an entire campus. It was pretty awful.

It seemed to cheer her up that I understood exactly how awkward and painful her situation is right now. I saw no need to add that the reason I sprained my ankle when I was a freshman in college was that I had too many wine coolers at a Mardi Gras celebration and fell off a curb.


We paid a heavy price for living through the 80s.

The important thing is that I empathized with my child's suffering once I stopped denying her medical aid for a broken bone I refused to believe was there. And that I no longer drink wine coolers except when I run out of vodka. And that I now celebrate Mardi Gras in the safety of my own home, where there are no curbs as long as no one lets me wander outside.

It's nice to be able to share life lessons with your child. Provided they're properly edited. And no one brings up wire hangers or Duran Duran.