Her eyes widened as I raised the brush over my head. Crack… “Ow!” she yelped, biting down on her lower lip. Crack…Whack… Snap… Slap…”Oh, God!” she whispered, burying her face under the chair. Her hair billowed and snapped up with each slap. Crack… Crack… Crack…. I spanked her quickly, deliberately. She jumped each time the brush slapped against her tender skin. Elizabeth was wriggling her bottom and kicking her legs. I had to stop and renew my grip on her waist to keep her from sliding off my. “You can’t smell salt, Sia,” I informed her, a bit miffed.“Well, I can!”The first taste confirmed my slightly wonky daughter could, indeed, smell salt. While it was amusing, this sensory development concerned me. How else had her brain been affected by the concussion?Worries vanished after dinner when we settled on the couch. Sia, using her healthy foot, started nudging my thigh, “Look at that, Dad!” nodding to the television, “A documentary!”I smiled. I didn’t consider Last Man Standing a. Her husband was downstairs watching a boring hockey game. She had no interest in sports, but he was a real fan. Besides his occupation and avocation, she yearned for the time, when the only passion a man had was for the woman he loved and for the children he fathered. If only for a day, if only for one passion filled night, she wondered how different it would have been to live back at a time without television, the Internet, the telephone, and all those modern day conveniences that get in the. What was it about her that affected him in this way? He’d never felt this urgency before. He had this yearning to take care of her, to take care of both of them, and it seemed to consume him. This had never happened to him before, normally he was the one who panicked about commitment, as soon as there was talk of moving in together, of marriage or children he would be the one to clam up or run away. He smiled to himself at the irony of it. Maybe he was just too used to always getting his own.
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