Hook, Line and Father

On Tuesdays and Thursdays the nanny boy goes to pre-school, giving me a few hours with just nanny baby, and to some extend, a reprieve: the baby is guaranteed to sleep for at least an hour and I relish that time, watching some pathetic excuse for a tv show, reading or catching up on emails. After Beanie Bear wakes up, I take him on a walk (my life really is this predictable): I've secured a good route with some minor hills, a decent amount of shade and lots of real nature- not the manufactured trees and 1/4 inch grass that is mandatory when living in the suburbs.
Last week, we took our regular route: past the duck pond, along the bike trail, the major road to our right, constantly competing for top billing of loudness over the thoughts in my head.
As we made our way back, I briefly noticed a few people hanging around the duck pond. My noticing didn't go beyond that, as I was in a rush to pick up Sam from school and my Ginger features were melting in the sun. But before I knew it, I was taken away from my own thoughts as one of the people in the group hollered for me to come over. By holler I mean "Excuse me, can you please help me over here?!" in a voice that indicated someone had a gun to his head or was being savagely attacked by the duck family nearby. Well, neither of these scenarios were reality, but reality was still pretty painful.
I wasn't sure what I was getting myself into when I walked over, was this some elaborate ruse to steal a wallet I didn't have on me, or run off with Ben as I tended to the fake victim? Apparently i have no faith in humans.
As I got closer, I saw that three boys were crying and the dad was sweating so hard I thought he might have actually just got out of the pond. What I witnessed next is probably the most odd picture I've ever seen. The dad explained that his son had cast the fishing line before he instructed him to and the hook wound up in the side of his neck. I know little about fishing. Actually, I know that a person fishing is called an angler and I only know that because of an episode of GIlmore Girls. In any case, I definitely know that a hook belongs in a tackle box, a fish, and that's about it.
I have no idea what kind of pain the guy was in, but the 90 degree weather, his three crying children and a stranger with no medical knowledge whatsoever, had to send him over the edge.
I decided that trying to take the hook out of the guy's neck was probably the worst idea, closely followed by me running away from the situation.
Neither the fish hook guy or I had a cell phone on us. I need to tangent here for a sec: I HATE carrying my cellphone. I really should not be alive in the cell phone era. I don't like it disturbing me while I'm trying to do something nature-y. I hate worrying about how low the battery is, and I put off charging it as long as possible, I only check my voicemail when I have about 5 blinking on my dinosaur phone and someone says, "does that say you have FIVE new voicemails?!" and when I receive more than one text message at a time, I get super stressed out about answering them- I need 21st century therapy. The bf always tried to convince me to bring my cell phone places, "what if someone has an emergency?" "They won't," I say. "What if your family needs you?" he asks and I answer, "they have your number." He will not be seen without having his phone because, "you never know". So, imagine for a second, the look on his face when I come and tell him I had to help a guy with a fish hook in his neck and neither of us had a cell phone: he was wearing pure "I told you so" face.
So without a cell phone, the guy, who by this point is sweating so hard, I think the lubrication might wiggle the hook right out of him, sends his oldest kid on his bike and back to their house to get his wife.
Talk about a long ten minutes. Bless Beanie Bear's little heart because he sat in that stroller not making a peep, while the guys younger boys were still crying. Tensions were running high, and the skin around the fish hook was swelling. It looked like a marshmallow pierced by a campfire skewer. I could not see where the hook was because of the fluffy skin that had now gone from pink to white. The kids were screaming apologies at their dad and the dad was in so much pain, he was shouting, politely- there was a stranger around, after all!- at his son for having put them in this mess.
The counselor in me knew I had to help in some way, so I looked at the sons and told them that it was okay to be scared, but that their dad would be fine. I'm not sure it calmed the kids down, but it definitely put the dad in his sons Spiderman shoes for a second. He gathered himself and told his son that he was going to be okay and accidents happen.
The mom came a few minutes later and although she thought she should pull the hook out of her husband's neck (for better or worse, I guess) we convinced her to drive him to the ER.
I have no idea how they ended up, but I imagine that hook is in a medical trash can somewhere and that the family's fishing poles are slowly collecting dust in a nearby garage.