Raising boys . . .

Dear Coleman,

I hate to say it, but 

this probably won't be your last visit to 

the Emergency Room. . . 

. . . or the last time you'll have to sit around in one for 

six or seven hours 

waiting 

for someone to finally get around 

to stitching you up, 

or setting your arm, 

or your foot, 

or whatever else you'll probably break 

zooming around the planet 

being a little boy.

 Or a big boy, for that matter.

(Seems it pretty much comes with the territory.)  

Pop and I are very glad you're ok, though.

Tell Mommy and Daddy to do their best to relax:

I've been prayin' up the very finest Guardian Angels to 

stay close 

and make sure that all those visits remain minor ones.

But do remind Mom and Dad to keep that insurance paid up.

Boys seem to need lots of that.

I love you,

Nana

p.s. You're gonna think that little scar on your head is very cool.