the joy of bleeding

on the mosh pit floor

My son recently broke his nose.

He was playing soccer. He was playing against older, larger, more aggressive, more powerful boys on the triple “A” team.

He went up for a header against their goalie. He challenged this bigger boy. Their heads connected. His nose exploded with blood.

He was upset.

I was upset.

And?

It’s not likely for the reasons you’d think.

He was upset because he missed. He wanted to prove himself and to score. He was upset because he got pulled from the scrimmage.

Were you upset because you were hurt bud?

Not at all he replied, getting hurt is part of it.

I beamed with pride. I taught him well.

I wasn’t upset that he was hurt. I was not worried that he may have have a concussion. I was worried that years of playing aggressively with him, of teaching him about pain, and domination through play would get erased by a culture of holding back and playing safe.

When both of my children were younger, I played rough with them. Once with my daughter, we were running around the splash …