One weekend, my friend Sally, a nurse, was babysitting her six-year-old nephew when he fell off a playground slide and hit his head.
Worried he might have a concussion, she monitored him all night. Every hour, she would gently shake him and ask, "What's your name?"
Soon, he began moaning in protest each time she entered the room.
At 5:00 A.M., Sally found something white on his forehead. Leaning close, she saw a crayon-scrawled message taped there.
It read: "My name is Daniel."
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