If I hadn't been so damn scared I'd have been pissed off.

Saturday, my 15 year old rolled like a tumbleweed on a four wheeler. Those "fun" death machines that kids seem to be enthralled with. No helmet, no pads, no gloves, no kidding. Our rule is helmets. Being 10 foot tall and bullet proof, Greg didn't seem to think that rule applied to him on Saturday. He is simply alive because it's a miracle. He is covered with road rash and looks like he's been dragged behind a car and feels like it for that matter. He's had a ton of morphine, Vicodin and Norco over the last two days. I've been running on adrenaline, sugar and Diet Pepsi most of the time. I've had way too little sleep. I'd love to kick his ass if I wasn't so grateful that he still has one. There will be no lectures though...no long diatribes...no threats and no punishments. He's had a enough pain that no words will be needed. I've always heard that things will be repeated until the lesson is learned. Not in this case. I think he got it.