Two of my brothers-in-law and I headed off to the southwest suburbs with their sons for a practice run of camping and canoeing before going into the Minnesota wilderness. Above all, we wanted the kids to have a grip on safety around woods and water. And one brother-in-law has a brother, a doctor, with a house on a lake where we could practice.
That brother-in-law–we’ll call him Pat–took a practice run with his 13-year-old in a canoe, then pulled in to the dock. His son quickly and easily exited the very tippy canoe–no problem. Then the father started to get out, but the craft began to wobble wildly. We asked if he needed help, but he insisted that “I can handle . . . ” It’s debatable whether the “it” left his mouth before he hit the water. But on his way out of the canoe, he took time to whack his forehead on the boat.
He climbed out of the water claiming to be refreshed, not realizing he had a wicked-looking wound oozing quite a bit of blood.
We all thought, well, no problem. We have a doctor right here. But one thing brothers know is that no matter what you become later in life, you’re always a brother first.
The doctor immediately reached for a camera and took a picture for later enjoyment, then hurried into the house to get a bandage to cover the damage–at least, the physical damage.