Mark gets his finger cut

He wrote an impressive computer open source program that grabs information off the Internet. It pleased someone somewhere so much that they offered him an opportunity to participate in an IPO (initial public offering of stock) of a technical company.
With two kids he doesn’t have a lot of spare cash, but he did have a retirement fun — which he could not borrow on until weeks after the company would go public. In the end, he took a risk, borrowed from Peter to pay Paul for the IPO. It broke all records for first day sale of any stock.
The glow of success hung over him until the week he was to head north for a family celebration of his dad’s birthday. That was the week his employer decided to recreate the company without several employees … including my son.
I was afraid he would have to stay home to look for work. He said all he needed was Internet access and he could search for jobs or e-mail his resume from anywhere. Everyone enjoyed the family party and reunion. No one enjoyed the long drive home.
Once home, he had plenty of time to enjoy h is baby son and daughter. He especially relished the time the baby insisted Momma let him down, the proceeded to walk across the room and reached up for Daddy to hold him.
Besides holding babies my son used his jobless days to catch up o the work around the house. Cutting the wood for the deck in the back went well until the table saw cut his fingers as well as the wood.
His wife raped up his bleeding hand, tossed the kids in the mini-van and dashed him over to the hospital. His daughter had seen enough to know she wanted her daddy fixed, quick. She looked the hospital clerk in the eye, slapped her hand on the desk and said, “My daddy is bleeding.”
The intake clerk smiled and asked about insurance. They weren’t sure they had any. They elected to go to Charity Hospital where the staff was busy tending head wounds from bullets. By the time the doctor was ready to repair my son’s finger and thumb his wife had found out that they did have insurance to cover his outpatient surgery. He went home with his arm bandaged and a pin in his finger.
They decided it was time to reap the profit from his IPO stock option to pay the bills, feed the kids and heat the house. While my son’s bound-up hand inhibited him from tying his shoes or fastening his buttons, he decided he could handle a hammer and finish the deck. He could, that is, if his wife drilled holes and began pounding the nails. Finishing the deck turned into a memorable family work day. Both toddlers wanted to help pound nails. Both refused to use a toy hammer. Both fought to use one of the household’s three real hammers. Nether wanted to share with each other or their parents.
About the time household funds threatened to be sparser than household hammers and area company called the chief nail pounder, interviewed him and offered him a contract. My son’s emotional and financial roller coaster leveled out – for now.