When I was 13 years old, I got really angry at something and kicked a hole in the wall of my bedroom. It was a perfect heel-sized hole exactly where my heel would land if I were to kick the wall. When my parents found the hole, they asked me how it got there.
"I don't know," I replied. "Bugs?"
No offense, but teenagers are dumb.
Holy shit, stop screaming at me! I said "No offense!" But seriously, teenagers are dumb. Well, I suppose it's all relative. Perhaps I shouldn't say dumb...I should probably say that you're just dumber than we adults. The only reason I say this is because it's true, and because you prove it to me daily.
A 16 year old boy was brought to me just now having been shot in the right leg. This isn't news around here - people get shot routinely - drug deals gone bad, robberies, gang violence, Little Red Riding Hood minding her own business walking through the forest delivering muffins to Grandma - and this kid was no different. He said Some Dude (it's always Some Dude, his brother This Guy, or their sister Some Bitch) approached him and just started firing. FIVE SHOTS he said he heard.
The problem is that there was a single gunshot wound on the front of his mid-thigh, and the bullet was sitting just in front of his kneecap. I'll give you a minute to figure this one out. Go ahead, put your right index finger in the middle of the front of your right thigh, and put your left middle finger over your right kneecap. Did you figure out the problem with the story? There is no way in hell that a bullet would have followed that trajectory had he been shot from the front. However, if you stand up, make your right hand into a little gun, put it in your pants waistband, and pretend to pull the trigger, that just happens to put the bullet exactly in the right place.
He stuck by his story, even as the police hovered over him and questioned him. While they were doing this, I made a small incision over his patella and extracted the bullet. (If you're wondering why I removed it, it's because it would have bothered him for the rest of his life and it was very superficial.) I felt like asking him if he really thought any of us believed him, but I realised it wouldn't make a bit of difference.
When he comes back to get his sutures out, I think I'll ask him again and see if he sticks to his guns.
No pun intended.
UPDATE (6/20/2012): He did come back about a week later to get the sutures out, and by golly he did stick to his story. I just looked at him over my glasses in that "give me a break" way, and he just stared back in that "you won't break me" way. Ugh...stupid kids.