I mean, my two-year-old daughter’s decision to grab a long, exceedingly sharp butcher’s knife from the dishwasher and run the entire length of the house with it in her hand — and leap playfully onto the couch in the front room.
I’d been unloading the dishwasher when Sarah wormed past my legs to get the knife. I think she just wanted to liven up the afternoon.
I remember running as fast as I could after her, unable to reach down far enough from my height to slow or stop her, and worrying each second that, by chasing her, I was increasing the danger that she’d fall and the knife would go —- well, I didn’t want to think where the knife might go.
It turned out fine.
She got to the couch and I got to her without any slashes, punctures or other sorts of wounds occurring.
Awash with relief and yet still coming to the full realization of how dangerous our little jaunt had been, I gave Sarah the only spanking of her life.
That turned out fine, too. The three slaps I directed to her rump were nicely cushioned by her thick diaper. She thought it was a game.
Patrick T. Reardon