Splinters

This story takes place in the summer of 1967, a long time ago.  My husband, an Assoc. Prof. at UCD at that time, got a chance to participate in the summer school on Lake Como in northern Italy.  He took me and our children with him.  Our daughter, Eva was 5 and 1/2; our son, Jan,  still a baby in diapers.  1 and 1/2 years old. 

My husband arranged for a new Volvo station wagon to be delivered to us in Geneva.  We had to wait a long time while they attached a rack for skis, baggage, etc. on the top of it.  So we took a trip on Lake Geneva, on an excursion boat.  The weather was sunny and warm, the views on all sides were delightful, the huge placid lake, lots of colorful flowers and trees.  A dream landscape. 

During the trip, sitting on the top deck in the sunshine, my husband and I started quarreling, as we often did in those days.  Our daughter was reading her book.  And our pretty, 15 year-old Norwegian baby-sitter was sunning herself in her new bikini, as she did, most of the time.  So no one was paying attention to little Bobo, as he was called.  He was just learning to walk.  He took a few tentative steps on his wobbly legs, and fell down.  Over and over.  No one noticed.  But the deck was made of very old wood.

The next day we had to take him to a clinic in Geneva, where the doctor removed 86 splinters from his legs and bottom!  I learned my lesson, and never took my eyes off him from that day on. 

Jan is now 54 years old, living in LA with his wife and sons, one 16 years old, the other an MIT student.  He has his own business.