My great-grandson Philip, four years old, fell and broke his wrist a few days ago. The next day, his wrist bandaged awaiting a cast, duct tape holding it on, Philip was at our family Labor Day cookout climbing a tree and dangling from branches as if nothing had happened. “Look mom, one hand!” Invincible.
Philip is a rough and tumble little guy. He loves jumping into the fray, wrestling with the boys, running fast, boxing along with a video game. Watching him box is amazing, the way he punches, jabs, moves. The natural! Physical, fearless, and also very smart, articulate, charming, sweet. The cutest little boy going. Just ask his Gran E, my daughter Elissa, whose biggest fear is that Philip really will become a boxer when he grows up. She's trying to interest him in soccer.
Yesterday, Philip was back in the hospital to get his cast on. Lime green, like a popsicle. His mom Julia, my first grandchild, says he was "very brave." She's so proud of him. We’re not surprised. Nor will we be surprised if he’s boxing, climbing, running and wrestling as hard as ever, or playing with all the cars and toys in his great-grandma’s treasure box with just one hand (his right hand, and he’s a lefty!). What a trooper our Philip is!
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