When foot meets rake (or something) - Or - Another lesson learned as a father. . .

It began with a new pool. Our neighbors moved to California and gave us their four foot deep, sixteen feet around above ground pool. Now our house is a continuous neighborhood playground. The kids love it. Two days ago as Esther and the multitude of children were anxiously engaged in an outdoor event, she stepped on a rake (or something).
Blood poured, children frantically notified parents, friends and anyone else who would listen. She showed me the blood and with very little interest I suggested a bandaid, but not a big one. She didn't need it. Then comes mom, five hours later. Esther hobbled down. Dawn questioned what had happened, I said whe was fine etc. One doctor visit, a few stitches and crutches later, I should have paid more attention, or maybe she should have. . .