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It was a minor injury, really. Sawyer was riding his bike one minute and was on the pavement the next, and I didn’t expect there to be any kind of real issue beyond yet another scraped knee. In his lifetime he has spent every stretch of warm weather covered with the scrapes and bruises that come with testing the limits of boyhood. But this time, when he stood up, I took one look at his knee and recognized right away that this was an injury beyond what I am equipped to fix. I may have a boy mom playbook in my brain, etched there by necessity through the years, but I knew there was no page that would show me how to make this busted knee okay again.