The call came in just minutes after we returned home from our morning playdate at the park. After the initial greetings, she got straight to the point. "Danny has a bite mark on his arm."
"Oh my, " I said with concern. "I didn't see any spiders where we were sitting."
"It's not a spider bite!" She said, now with a disdainful tone. "It's a human bite!"
I laughed. Not at her youngster's plight. Nor at her. But at my own ignorance.
Suddenly the scene flashed in my mind's eye. My speech delayed two year-old son feverishly signing "Me! Me! Me!" at her son to share a turn as they stood together at the helm of the playground pirate ship. Her son unaware of the frustration building within the toddler at his side. And certainly no desire to share his newfound pirate glory. I looked away. He must have taken that moment to strike.
My misunderstanding of 'a bite' became painfully clear. I apologized profusely.
And never heard from her again.
