Now, normally, when Connor has one of his so-painfully-ridiculous-it-could-only-happen-to-the-C-train accidents, there’s an element of comedy involved, even if it’s hidden way down deep and available only as an Easter egg on the extras DVD of his life…. but not today.

Today, while he and his Mum were walking back from dropping Erin off at school, he was run over by a kid on a bicycle. Ploughed under by a little bastard who then raced off without making sure he was okay, because, as we found out later, he “thought he’d get away with it.”

Erudite readers may realise, from that last sentence, that he didn’t.

Later in the day, after she’d taken him to the doctor, and had all his contusions cleaned up and dressed, and received the news that they won’t be able to tell whether the mess his nose has become is broken until the swelling goes down, Lyn went to the school to make a complaint. After all– one of their students, on their grounds, during school hours. If we were going to receive any medical bills, they were going to be forwarded somewhere.

And guess what? Someone had seen the incident, and reported the kid to the office. And he’d been identified. And slapped with detentions. And once they copped a look at Connor, they upped the ante– more detentions, and now his parents are going to be brought in to have the matter discussed in the sort of detail that I can only hope leads to him nto being able to sit on that bike for a very long time.

So: kudos to the person who did the rigth thing and reported the little shit’s actions, and kudos to the school for taking the matter seriously and acting quickly and decisively to instigate appropriate consequences.

But, still– my little boy may have a broken nose, and still– he’s spent the day in a daze, and still– someone out there hurt my little boy. And I’m consumed by rage when I consider what could have happened, and how a ten year old kid can do something so heartless and then ride away as if nothing had happened.

Simple rule, people: hurt my child, run for your life.