Ha. I set my six year old son up with a knife and a stick and a very clear and firm explanation of how to whittle safely and successfully. After about four minutes of totally legit whittlin', I went to turn off the hose, and came back to a white faced boy holding a deep gash on his finger. Injured, and afraid to admit he'd broken the rules. So we had a good talk about how blood trumps embarrassment and fear. He's now 12, and today chose as his 100 word 8th grade "random thing description" homework, the stick he was whittling when he was six, and cut himself badly. "I've gotten lots of cuts on my left hand. The thumb, this finger, and this finger... I thought I was opening the screwdriver, but it was the little blade, and it sliced my finger. I looked down and there was blood on the knife, and I was like, 'what?'" Me: "When was this?" Son: "Yesterday." DAMMIT.
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