Marathon Morning
The summer wanes like a besieged freako bee

Don't try to understand - just enjoy

The other day Mom took Tre and Max to their piano lesson, as usual. As Max was waiting during Tre’s lesson, he took to crawling around on the floor, his forehead pushing along the carpet. He said it tickled.

Mom watched him, wondering if she should stop him. She figured he’d stop if it hurt.

I could have told her otherwise.

When he stood up he had a round rug burn on his forehead, just below his hairline. By the time he got home it really stung, and he kept poking at it and wincing.

“Did you learn something?” I asked him. He nodded soberly back, but I’m still not sure EXACTLY what he learned. Eh. At least he learned something.

The next morning, the burn had darkened into an impressive looking scab on his forehead. It no longer hurt, so as far as Max was concerned, all was well.

Except wherever we go we tend to have the exchange we had today at Chik-fil-A.

The woman behind the counter spotted Max’s forehead and gasped,

”Oh my goodness, honey, WHAT HAPPENED?” Max looked at her blankly, so she followed up with, “to your forehead? Right there?”

He scowled at her and replied (as though it were obvious),

“Rug burn.”

“Oh. Well, WHERE did you get a rug burn on your forehead?”

Max shook his head at her obtuseness, and said (again, as though any simpleton would have figured this out by now),

“At my piano lesson.” Then he turned on his heel and walked away.

Now, I know that Max can be somewhat shy, and doesn’t like having animated questions directed at him by strangers. I know that the process of explaining what happened would be actually painful for him. The strangers? Don’t know that, so they figure Max is a) good heavens, an odd little boy or b) has a brutal piano teacher with unconventional methods. When he turned his back on the nice inquiring counter lady today, she looked to me for an explanation.

But I don’t feel any need to explain Max, so I smiled and ordered lunch instead.



Will got the same thing the other day, on his back. His sister was dragging him down the hall by his feet gleeful and giggly until-- OUCH!


ROFL! That woman willt ell that funny story to everyone, I bet.


And then sometimes they don't learn the lesson... I managed to get a small rug burn (of sorts) on my back when I was in college: my boyfriend was giving me a backrub through my shirt, and I asked him to concentrate on one spot that was really sore. Unfortunately, I couldn't distinguish between the soreness of the muscle, and my skin crying out in distress. I didn't even realize anything had happened until about half an hour later, when the area began to smart and ooze. It left a temporary scar that took years to fade, and I have no one to blame but myself!


I have kids that don't like to answer questions from strangers, either, especially if they've hurt themselves. He answered her questions, though, which is more than mine will do.


At least he didn't point at you and say, "She did it."


I would have been offended by a question like that when I was little, although I doubt if I would have been as polite as Max. I used to just glare at people I didn't like when I was little. :)

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