Writer's Workshop: Who Doesn't Have Scars From A Government Office?

Thursday. Writer's Workshop. By now, you should know how this works.

After you get married, you have to go through the freaking fabulousness that is changing your name. Two weeks after I got married and our license had been mailed, I was excited to get mine changed. No longer would my last name be made fun of. FINALLY!

Since David and I were our running errands, we decided to go ahead and stop by the Social Security office so I could change my name. We pulled into the parking lot and headed inside to see every chair in the place filled. In Arizona, this sort of thing is not uncommon. I can honestly only remember one time where I didn't wait more than 2 hours to have something done at the DMV, the Social Security office or even the office where we needed to apply for and get Ethan's birth certificate.

After taking several deep breaths and cursing to myself, I grabbed a number, and cursed even more when I saw that my number was D-90 (yes, I do still remember...This story is about scars after all) and they were only just calling D-51. I scanned the room for three empty seats, because David and I had the genius idea that this would be quick (HA!) and had come in with Ethan, who was quite hyper. I saw no open seats, so we went to a back corner for me to fill our my paperwork and sit on the floor. Ethan was asking question, jumping up and down and trying to throw the chained pens to the floor only to discover that they bungee jumped instead of clattered to the ground.

After 30 minutes of waiting, my two children (yes, David was acting like a child at this point) were getting a little antsy. They paced. They whined. They complained. They, in general, were starting to drive me nuts. David decided he was going to head to the gas station down the street and pick up a couple of bottles of water and some snacks for Ethan, who was also complaining that he was hungry, and he'd eaten all his snacks by then. We decided that Ethan would stay with me because the gas station was just on the corner, so David was walking. It was 115 degrees that day, and we thought it was better that he stay. David turned to walk for the door, and then the scarring happened.

As David headed for the door, Ethan turned and saw him on his way out the door. He screamed, "Daddy!". He stood up from my lap where he was sitting facing me, and picked up his foot to run. Then, slow motion started. As he picked up his foot, it caught in the bottom of my pant leg. He jerked forward. I put my arms out to catch him, but I wasn't fast enough. He screamed, and fell face first onto the tile. Of course, the scream of "Daddy!" had caught just about everyone's attention, so they all saw me, arms outstretched, and him, on the floor crying. I scooped him up and looked him over. Amazingly, he didn't get anything but a bump to the forehead. I was expecting a bloody nose or mouth, but nothing. There was no bloody nose, there was no bloody mouth. My face was red, and when David got back, I insisted he take Ethan home and I would ride the bus. It was only 2 mile ride. He gave me the 60 cent bus fair and left.

An hour and a half later I had a new last name and some scarred pride. I still feel terrible whenever I remember that day. Ethan has no recollection of that day, but he was 3. I don't expect him to remember it.