"Sting saved my life," he tells people earnestly. And although this boy likes to spin a good tall tale, this one is closer to true than not. His precious wooden sword Sting was by his side when Zach and I were sharing this moment last summer at my dad's cottage on Lake Michigan.
A lazy afternoon in the hammock, happy filthy toes, not a worry in the world. Except that tree you see behind his head. Ya see, that tree is dead. And dead trees don't make good hammock stands. A few enthusiatic swings and all of the sudden that tree came down. Inward. Towards us. It landed inches from Zach's head, right on Sting. So Sting got some very authentic looking battle scars, which didn't much bother the boy. That is, until over time the cool looking crack turned into a very real break. Cue the tears.
I had one of those dads who believed everything could be fixed with duct tape. Now we're the parents, and my husband's cure all for broken toys and broken anything is fiberglass and epoxy.
The alchemy of nautical toxins brewing, Zach looks on as if watching a loved one in surgery while daddy works his magic. Sting is now in "recovery", drying and getting sanded. But it seems as though he'll be just fine, and back at home slipped into my boy's belt loop in no time. Stronger than ever, looking even more battle worn. Which of course, makes him cooler.