Children are mostly a joy, but there are those frightening moments experienced in some version by every family that make you wonder if you'll survive raising your children.

Our oldest daughter had a freak bicycle accident at age 5 that lacerated her liver and put her in ICU for over a week. We lived through that. Another daughter slipped in the bath tub and bit a hole in her tongue large enough to place a Cheerio in. That was not pleasant, but we made it through that one, also. And then my son came along.

Jonathan had a bad digestive problem that stunted his early development (you could never tell it now), and then had a battle with croup at 13 months old. This was not croupy-sounding cough, but THE CROUP that slammed him in ICU, put him on the ventilator and caused serious breathing problems during his early years. He has outgrown most of this ailment.

But what he likes to talk about are his series of “accidents.” For some warped reason he boasts about these experiences as if they were a badge of honor. “Daddy, tell them about my accidents,” he pleads when we get together with anybody who has not heard his horror stories. He loves to see people's reactions.

The most recent escapade happened on a Sunday evening after church not too ago. We met several couples at a local restaurant to visit and enjoy dessert. My son tagged along, bored and disappointed that he could not sit with his sisters and their fellow youth group members at another table. He was stuck with the adults. He finished his dessert, and as we were visiting, he was playing with his root beer bottle. The next thing I know, he is poking me in the arm saying, “Thaddy, my thung is thuck.”

I said, “C'mon, Jonathan. Quit kidding.” I really didn't believe him at first, but I did notice that a root beer bottle was hanging from his tongue.

He said, “my thung is thuck.” He wasn't kidding. He had rolled his tongue and stuck it way down into the neck of the root beer bottle and couldn't get it out.

Now, I was concerned, especially when I realized he wasn't teasing, but it was quite a sight. I've seen plenty of tongue rings these days, but I've never seen anyone with a root beer bottle swinging from his or her tongue. I began to laugh, the entire table began to laugh, and the next thing I know, he's laughing with that bottle bouncing back and forth at the end of his tongue. I was afraid he was going to knock a tooth out.

After one attempt to pull the bottle from his tongue proved to be somewhat painful, my wife “held his tongue” and was somehow able to twist it away from the bottle. Another close call. I was already imagining a trip to the emergency room, some sort of saw, and a possible forked tongue.

That's not the first time Jonathan's been stuck. I was attending the Southern Baptist Convention meeting in Indianapolis in 1991. While I was in meetings, my family was back at the hotel. Waiting for the elevator door to open, my then 2-year-old son was leaning his hand on the closed door. The elevator arrived, the door slid open and my son's hand followed the door as it slid into the wall. Suddenly he started screaming hysterically as he realized his hand was stuck in the elevator door.

It was a tense moment as guests realized what was going on and watched in horror as my wife frantically tried to release his hand from between the door and the wall. When the door closed, fortunately the hand came out. He was sore, hotel management was concerned, but after ice and a couple of days, the hurt began to fade away.

Several years later, my son and youngest daughter were chasing each other through the house. He tripped and fell into the corner of a wall. Big knot on his forehead, big dent in the wall, and big headache. Fortunately, my next door neighbor was in family practice. We called, and he came over to check for concussion, etc.

The interesting thing was, he asked Jonathan to tell him what happened. After Jonathan told him the exact story I had just told him, he asked Jonathan to take him upstairs to show him the dent in the wall. They went upstairs, and there was the dent. It turns out the knot lasted a few days, but there was no other complications beside the immediate headache. I realized later that the doctor was checking out his neighbor's story to make sure I had not knocked my son in the head. I guess you can't trust anybody these days, even the preacher next door.

I could continue with his near-drowning, the hoe-in-the-head story, or the encounter with the shark. There's never a dull moment, but maybe we'll make it as long as I keep him away from root beer bottles.

The Rev. Dr. David L. Chancey is pastor, McDonough Road Baptist Church, Fayetteville.

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