That's how we got here. With my dad pulling out a T-shirt and commanding me to hold it on the blood. Taking off his belt and tightening it around my leg to stop the bleeding. Angry, but concerned. The pieces of his birthday present scattered around us.
The ride to the emergency room was very, very quiet. I got three stitches and we drove home in silence.
My Bar Mitzvah was less than a week away.