The Red Shirt

I am five years old having a tee-ball practice at Jesse Owens Park. It is spring time and the grass and trees are as green as a 7-Up can. My dad is the assistant coach and he is standing off to the side of the ball field talking to the coach. He is wearing a white t-shirt, blue jeans and a red ball cap. My friend and I walk off the baseball field and head towards the coaches. We walk past them in a brisk fashion because we want to see who can run faster. Heading back twenty feet, we stop and turn around. On the count of three. One... two...three, we take off running towards the coaches. Wind blowing in my face as I take the lead, I turn around to see where my opponent is. I do not notice that my course is veering to the left away from the coaches and my friend continues to follow. My head faces forward and I realize that in front of me are two women sitting in lawn chairs. I practically root myself into the ground to stop about five feet behind the ladies. Relief runs quickly into my body, unfortunately so does my friend. Being launched forward my head connects with the steel arm rest of one of the lady’s lawn chairs, then I fall softly to the grassy ground. 

Getting up to a kneeling position I do not notice any major injuries, at least until I cannot see. A red curtain of blood runs down in front of my eyes and I scream. I feel no pain whatsoever, but I am terrified that there is blood covering my eyes, so I shut them. Not knowing where I am, my body is scooped up off the ground; my body has just taken flight. In my ear, a familiar voice whispers “It’s going to be okay.” I nestle close to my father’s chest as he runs with me in his arms.

The soft sound of running on grass gives away to the crackle of gravel, my dad is running on the road. He stops and I hear him frantically saying “Officer, my son’s head is cut wide open, can you please help me?” The crackle of gravel rings in my ears, but this time it is moving away. The officer was moving away from us, but he replied in a cold calm voice “All I can do is radio for help, but keep him away from me.” Now I’m a freak, this man who I cannot see is scared of me and all he can do is call someone else as the blood continues its Niagara Falls like state down my face. After what seems like hours my dad tells me a fire truck has just pulled up.

Eyes still closed, I feel two other men pull me forward and begin doing something to my head. A soft cushion is being wrapped around my head and a wet cloth with ice cold water is wiped across my eyes. Opening my eyes again I see the two firemen that are wrapping an ace bandage around my head and my father wiping the blood off my face with a wet handkerchief. With my head all wrapped up, my dad picks me up and carries me to my coach’s pick-up truck. As I am put into the truck I see the bright lime green fire truck and my heart jumps with excitement. It is short lived as my dad slides into the truck and shuts the door.

Inside the truck I am laying down with my head on my dad’s lap and my legs are propped up across my coach’s lap. I look up at my dad and notice that the top of his shirt is red. Not thinking about it too much I look back down and I am starting to feel exhausted. I begin to close my eyes when I hear my dad say “Don’t close your eyes, Mylo, keep them open.” I open my eyes and look up at my father again. Looking straight into his eyes I can see pain, concern and love all at once. A warm feeling surges through my body and I start to close my eyes again. “Mylo, don’t go to sleep, stay awake and talk to me please!” My eyes shoot open quickly and I reply “I love you Daddy.” The truck slows down to a stop and the next thing I know I’m being carried into the hospital. As my dad carries me inside the hospital I look up at him and say “It’ll be okay Daddy, just take me to Mommy and she’ll put a band-aid on it.”

In the hospital things moved so fast I can hardly see what is going on. Next thing I know I’m in a bed with some heavy material on my head which my dad tells me is holding the skin flap back. I open my eyes wide and gaze over at my father and see his new blood red shirt. My mom comes around the corner and takes over for my dad so he can wash up and try to calm down. She walks over and caresses my arm and says “It’s going to be alright, Mylo.” My little brother, Will, comes around the corner and walks over to my mom and she picks him up. Being four years old he does not know the seriousness of the situation, so he blurts out “Wow Mom I can see his skull.” My mom puts Will down and tells him to go to Daddy, so he does. She grabs a hold of my hand and we wait for the doctor to come in.

The doctor begins working, cutting away dead skin and starting to stitch me up. All I feel is something tugging at my head as I begin to doze off. It’s black for about a minute, then my eyes shoot open “You’re a great doctor! I can’t even feel it; you’re the best!” This session of dozing off and waking up and complimenting the doctor continues until he is finished. At the end, the doctor wraps another ace bandage around my head and tells my mom “When you get home he will most likely go to sleep.” My mom and I walk out of the room, collect my dad and brother and walk out of the hospital together. We all get into the car and head for home. Relief sets in for everyone and we are happy that we are still a whole family. All I can picture is my dad’s shirt, the shirt that was once white and then became completely blood red. For a five year old boy I lost a lot of blood and probably would have died if it had not been for my dad.