One weekend my friend, a look after, was looking after her
six-year-old nephew when he hew down off a playground slide and
up his noodle.
Worried that he mightiness have a concussion, she checked him all
night. Every hour, she'd gently upset him and enquire of, "What's
your name?" in a wink, he began moaning in protest each time she
entered the room.
When Sally went in at 5:00 A.M., she found something pure
on his forehead. Leaning close off, she saw a crayon-scrawled
declaration taped to his forehead.
It skim: "My name is Daniel."