Setting: December 2025
Holden is a whole experience, and his seven-year checkup was no exception.
It started in the waiting room. A woman walked in and, before I could stop him, Holden greeted her with a bright, confident hello, like he’d been expecting her. When the medical assistant called his name, he shot out of his chair. “YES, I’M COMING,” he announced, already halfway down the hall.
She weighed him — 99th percentile — and under his breath he muttered something about losing weight. Then she measured his height, lining him up carefully against the wall. When she finished, Holden looked up at the height chart and asked, very seriously, “Can I tell you something? Has anyone ever reached all the way up there?” She told him she hadn’t seen anyone that tall yet. He accepted this calmly, as if he’d just been checking.
In the exam room, she asked if he was experiencing any pain. Holden thought about it. “Well, I stubbed my toe a couple days ago. That hurt. And I went sledding,” he added, holding up his elbows, “and hurt my arm.” After the line of questioning, she told him the doctor would be in soon. Holden asked, “Is he a boy or a girl?” This has been his doctor since birth.
When she asked if there were any final concerns today, Holden nodded. “Yeah. I don’t want any shots.”
The doctor came in smiling. He mentioned that the assistant really liked Holden, that he'd made an impression in her (he is a mini mayor). He then asked about fruits and vegetables. “I eat ranch at school with salad,” Holden explained. “I don’t always eat the lettuce.” Milk? “I don’t drink it. It tastes weird.”
Any concerns? Holden paused. “My eyes have been watering.”
“When did that start?”
“I think since birth.”
The doctor asked if he did any activities. “Yeah,” Holden said. “I went sledding.” I clarified that he meant regular sports or clubs and mentioned that he plays soccer. The doctor asked what position. Holden stared at him. “What do you mean?” After a brief explanation of the various positions from the doctor, Holden decided, “defense.” He does not, in fact, play defense. They all still run in clumps.
As the doctor finished the exam, Holden lay back on the table and said, casually, “Did you know you grow in your sleep?” The doctor said he hadn’t heard that, but that sleep does help with your health. Holden immediately demonstrated, pointing his feet straight up. “If you sleep like this,” he said, “you’ll grow.”
The doctor glanced at me, nodded once, and said, “YouTube.”
After the doctor left, it was time for his flu shot.
Holden did not want a flu shot.
What followed took twenty minutes, a nurse, a medical assistant, a bubble machine, and me slowly running out of dignity. There was screaming. There was crying. There was flailing of the arms. There was outright, indignant refusal.
Finally, desperate, I said, “I’ll buy you Robux if you get your shot.”
Holden stopped crying immediately. He looked up at me and said, “How much?”
He tried to negotiate for one hundred dollars.
We settled on twenty.
This post is part of my One-Minute Memoir series — short reflections on small moments that still manage to say something big.
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