The Water Bottle Story

So (to start out like Beowulf), I didn’t want the kids drinking out of plastic water bottles anymore, so I bought them some different ones from Amazon. They were very nice, and everyone was excited about it, myself included.

More background: you have no idea how “on the fence” I was about Bennett playing basketball. I grew up playing and have a whole lot of baggage as a result. Obviously, there’s no better sport, but the rate they reel kids in is alarming these days. You can’t just play for a small part of the calendar year these days.

In spite of this, I was his basketball coach in his first “season” of the game. He was four years old, and he played with a bunch of kids we didn’t know that well. We had a few practices, then it was time for the first game.

Fortunately, we got there early. My dad used to own a creatively-titled establishment called The Gym. This is where we were to play that night. I used to clean those bathrooms in high school. I knew that place inside and out.

The stage is set, I believe.

As I’m trying to figure out all the things upon arrival, my son trips over his new shoes, and his water bottle busts into hundreds of pieces. Oh, I forgot to mention: it was a glass water bottle. The rubber protection thing seems to have been for show.

Immediately embarrassed out of my mind, I go over to the concession stand to see about getting it cleaned up. The wife takes the son to the car to get a band aid. He’s understandably upset by the whole matter.

The helpful lady at the concession stand handed me two dish rags in order to clean up the liter of water that Bennet had just spilled, as well as the glass that was all over the place. So, I was dumb and tried to use her dish rags. Turns out, when you kneel on glass, your knee begins to bleed.

Blood running down my legs, with two very wet dish rags in hand, I kindly ask the concession worker (who’s reading her book) for more towels. Also, I mention that “there used to be a mop in THAT room over there” and “is there still a mop in there?” She doesn’t know.

She comes back with two hand towels this time. Helpful.

With all I can muster, and avoiding kneeling the rest of my life, I finally do finish cleaning up the glass and water. Now it’s time to deal with my bloody knee.

So, I get to chat with little-miss-reader a third time and ask about a first aid kit. She does know where that is, so we’re on the up and up. She then pulls out a first aid kit from the 1900s, or so it would appear. I think it hadn’t been replaced since my dad built the place in the year 2000. Fortunately for him, it apparently didn’t get much use. His own son would use it 24 years later.

Attempting to do the responsible thing after kneeling on glass on a floor that hadn’t been cleaned since I cleaned it in 2008, I grabbed some band aids and an antiseptic wipe. I then headed outside to see about my son.

Well, our car’s first aid kit was not in the car. His knee was still bloody, which definitely mattered more to him than anything else in the world at the time. So, I sat him down (as grandparents gathered, arriving for the game), and I went to wipe his knee with the bug repellent wipe, for that’s what I had grabbed from the first aid kit. It was NOT an antiseptic wipe. My life was a sitcom that night.

A grandparent had napkins in the car, by God’s grace, so we used those to clean up our blood.

Band aids on the both of us, it was time to coach my first ever basketball game.