There must come a day in every young ‘un’s life when this particular type of milestone comes to pass. Yes, folks, yesterday our little Calvin’s cute, strong, ever-so-adorably pudgy hands proved to be too irrisistable to one of his friends. And yes, you guessed it, they bit him.

It’s a wierd phone call to receive. “Your son’s been bitten… by a friend.” Growing up were I did the words “child” and “bitten” would normally be succeeded by something ranging between “spider,” “dog” and “snake” and sometimes “crocodile.” Not “friend.”

So of course, I simply had to smile.

At home time Calvin wasn’t in his creche room. I spotted him walking down the hall next to one of his teachers wearing a fetching Hawaiian shirt (thanks to Grammy who brought it back all the way from Hawaii!) . The procedure is for a bitee to be checked out by the centre management, which had just been completed. Upon spotting me, raced into my arms. The masticated digit was produced for examination. Frankly, I couldn’t see a thing.

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