He breaks off his singing. The words suck, but his tune is pretty good. Somewhere between Cee-Lo Green and Celine Dion. Catchy.
“…dad is a heart like you, know, uh like the same what do you call it the stuff that we’re all made of …yeah, you know!?!”
“I’m not sure I understand the question.”
And he launches into the chorus.
“Ohhhhh.what’s the question, oh yeahhhh, what’s the question. Scrape on the knee, Scrape on the heart, oh yeah, my….. is bleeding.”
He stops singing, “You see dad…what’s this, you know this stuff.”
He pinches his forearm.
Its his knee he scraped pretty gruesomely while flying on his scooter. He lost control, trying to show off how good he was, competing with a girl on a bike. At 8 and a half there is already the drive to impress.
“That’s it dad…you’re good. Oh yeah, scrape my knee, scrape my heart, I’m so sore and my skin is bleeeeeedddinnnggg.”
The tune is catchy, all right. But should I tell him that the heart and the knee are not the same stuff…skin.
“Oh yeaaaahhh, baby, (sings the 8yr old midget), I go on my knees … my heart skin bleeds…oh baaaaabbbyyyyy…my heart skin bleeds”.
Heart skin. His knee skin is raw, full of dirt and gravel, bleeding. It happened a minute ago. Yet he didn’t cry, scream or panic.
He started singing. About Heart Skin.
“Does your knee hurt, Noah?”
“Fer sure…hah! did you hear how I said that, dad? Fer sure….that’s funny…Fer sure, baby, fer sure, baaaabbbby, my heart skin bleeds fer sure, baaaaabbbbby.”
Better than a howling kid, clutching his bloodied knee on the sidewalk while the non-parents cycling by throw vaguely accusatory glances to the irresponsible parent you must be.
“Fer sure, baaaabbbbyyyy, I bleed fer you…”. As he scoots home on his scooter.
Fer sure, the heart skin bleeds. And, fer sure, it makes fer a good song.