James Casey is a menace to his own person. First, there was the incident in which the bed caused a horrible accident. Then there was a rogue arrow, thankfully sponge-tipped.
We'd discussed oft and anon how these two incidents had marred James forehead in such a way that he looked like he had horns just about to sprout. "Like a devil," he'd proudly proclaimed.
Just the other day, I encountered young James, cavorting in my backyard, and noted he was now sporting a third red spot, this time in the middle of his forehead. "I'm a three-horned devil!" he announced. "I'm a triceratops!"
I questioned him narrowly about how this had happened, and he gave some vague account of falling and hitting his head. I asked if he'd been leaping about, and he admitted he had.
I noted that he was a menace to himself, and that he always seemed to be hurting himself. He responded with incomprehension, so I pointed out his many injuries, recounting how he had gotten each. "I'd say that you're accident prone."
"What does accident prone mean?"
"It means you hurt yourself a lot." Then, I started to feel bad. Perhaps I was giving this poor child a complex. Perhaps my labeling of him as accident prone would give him a complex. So I softened the blow by pointing out that he wasn't alone.
"Lots of you kids are accident prone. Gavin hurts himself a lot."
James: "I hurt myself more."
"No,Gavin broke his arm. He fell out of a tree."
"I'm more accident prone," he asserted again.
"Jack is..." Then I realized something. "You know, Jack's not accident prone. He never hurts himself." I turned to Jack. "I don't remember you ever hurting yourself."
Jack whispered conspiratorially. "I make better choices."
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