Ann Broke My Ribs!

It’s true. Ann came home from West Point for Thanksgiving in 2001 and broke my ribs.

Maybe I should back up just a little bit. I’ve always roughhoused with the kids. There was no way my kids were going to grow up without knowing a few wrestling moves; not with my background. We did a lot of good-natured pushing and shoving in the house. In the wrestling culture a push to the shoulder serves as the friendly non-verbal equivalent of “do you want some of this”? A push and a push back could easily devolve into an unrefereed wrestling match on the carpet, chairs, and couch. It was essentially the game of “mine” (see the earlier post) without an object to defend.

When Ann arrived home for Thanksgiving she was well into her second year at West Point. She’d had some hand to hand combat training during her first summer at West Point. She’d had some more hand to hand combat training during her second summer at West Point. At the time of that Thanksgiving break she was almost done with yet another course she opted to take.

Wrestling is, for the most part, a safe sport. All the rules are designed with safety in mind. The legal moves are all quite safe if executed properly. This is the background I’ve lived and breathed my entire life. So when Ann passed me by in the kitchen and I gave her our traditional friendly shove of non-verbal challenge, I was totally surprised when she responded with a counter move designed to kill or incapacitate.

“Whoa”, I said, “You can’t do that in wrestling!” She said, “You may be wrestling, but I’m not. I’m not bound by the rules of wrestling. Want to see some of the stuff I know?” Yes, I did want to see, but I wasn’t yet over the shocking realization that I could no longer safely wrestle my daughter. She would be safe, because I was following the rules of wrestling, but I wasn’t safe because she wasn’t following any rules at all. She knew things that could seriously hurt me.

Over the course of the long weekend Ann would spend a moment here and there demonstrating various situations, moves, and countermoves, all of a violent nature. It was fascinating. There is another whole world out there outside of wrestling. Who thinks these things up?

The actual rib-breaking moment is quite uninteresting. We were in the den and Ann was showing me a simple trip move. Ann was going to catch me before I fell backward, a chair got in the way, I stumbled awkwardly, my stumble made it difficult for Ann to catch me, and I fell with my back hitting the arm of the chair. It hurt like hell and I immediately knew something wasn’t right.

According to the rules of “Mine”, and you really need to read that post if you haven’t, no harm was intended, and Ann was profusely apologetic, so there was nothing to get upset about.

However, I knew that I had broken my ribs, but I did not want Ann to think that she had broken my ribs. From everything I’d read and heard about West Point, it is the most hellacious experience to be imagined. Ann had way too many responsibilities and worries in her daily effort to survive West Point; I did not want her wasting any time or energy feeling guilty or worrying about me. I did the best I could to hide my pain until Ann headed back to West Point.

I eventually went to a doctor who diagnosed a broken rib. The doctor prescribed a painkiller that was an opiate derivative. Opiate derivatives are great painkillers, but they are also great constipators. The doctor also prescribed some fiber pills and stool softeners to counter the constipating effect. I know; too much information.

Anyway, to finish up this short story that has run long, Jean and I went to the Army-Navy football game a few weeks later in New York. Ann visited us at our hotel room, used the bathroom, saw the fiber pills and stool softeners, and yelled “Hey Dad! Are you so old that you need fiber pills?” Rather than pretend/confess that I was indeed old, I preferred to tell her the truth about the broken rib and the prescriptions. I preferred “injured” over “old”; vanity run amuck!

Ann seemed rather proud that she had broken my rib. I was rather proud that she had broken my rib. Does that make us a strange family? Wouldn’t any father want a daughter who was capable of breaking a man’s rib? It’s a rare accomplishment. This is a woman who can take care of herself. Isn’t that the ultimate objective of a father raising a daughter?