It's a running joke in my family. 

My dad says they heard it at Zinnie's, mom says no, it was that little Italian place.

Anyway, it's a guy talking on a pay phone, my parents happen to be walking by, they hear this little piece of the conversation:

"For God's sake, Sheila, it's only a knife wound."

You think, a knife wound, jesus, that's gotta be a pretty crazy story there. You think, something big must have happened, something pretty scary.

Probably wasn't, though.  

Kinda like what happened at work that time. Most things aren't as big and scary as you think they are. 

This guy's in my office, right, this very large black guy, tall, muscular—and a parolee. Our office landed the State's account, so all the area parolees had to come to us for alcohol and drug assessments. Which they had to pay 50 bucks a pop for, and that's on top of everything else these guys have to do when they make parole—my point is, by the time I see 'em, these are not happy men. 

Okay, so Big Unhappy-Scary Black Guy there is sitting in my office, sent by State Parole for his A&D assessment, and I'm like, 5'2", white, petite, blond hair, glasses—cute as a bug, which, believe me, cuts no ice with Parolee-guy.  But I have paperwork to fill out, so we start; name, date of birth, blahblahblah. 

So then I say, because I have to: "What was your charge?", meaning what crime did you commit, or what crime did they say you committed, that you've exchanged X amount of years of your life for and that brings you here, where you and I are oh so pleasantly chatting away.  And he leans in a little, and I don't mean like he's embarrassed and wants to whisper it in my ear, this guy could wipe the floor with me, I'm Ms. Pissant-Paperwork little white girl counselor, he's Big, Black, Scary Parolee-guy.  

Yeah, so there we are and I say, What's your charge, and he leans in, right, and he growls, and he says: "Murder."  And I look up from my paperwork, and look him in the eye, adjust my glasses, and I say, "Spell that." 

His daughter had a little girl about a month ago, he brought me a picture of her, "Alecia", cute as she can be. 

He's a nice man, we had a good laugh that day.  

Most things aren't as big and scary as you think they are.

I mean, for God's sake, Sheila, it's only a knife wound.