Bandaids

by J. McKay

author of

* The Write Stuff *

As many parents could ratify, there is something that 2 or 3 year olds love about bandaids. As a parent of such a child, I now understand why my parents never bought any bandaid that didn’t share its glamour with my mother’s pantyhose. They didn’t want us to have any additional incentive to plaster our bodies unnecessarily with them. We actually included a package of bandaids featuring her favorite ‘cartoon’ icon, in with our daughter’s recent birthday offerings. Naturally they didn’t last much longer than the birthday cake.

As we were walking somewhere, she ventured a little bit a head of me and I counted no less than 6 band-aids on various ‘wounds’ of the invisible sort. I knew that if I had been so inclined, I could have removed the band-aids without any fear of disrupting the ‘healing’ process below. I chuckled at the nonsense of youth until I turned a critical eye inwards and realized that although my bandaids are not screenshots of Saturday morning cartoons, I, like many adults, am guilty of placebo bandaids used to cover wounds that don’t exist much beyond a desire to cover something with a bandaid.

I’ll leave aside those substances with clinically nefarious active ingredients even though I think their initial self-prescription is an extension of the same motivation that drives two year olds to Dora bandaids because I recognize eventually there is nothing placebo about an addiction. I also realize that just as there are times that toddlers ‘ouchie’s warrant a band-aid, there are times when even Chuck Norris needs some TLC [Although I’m pretty sure his bandaids consist of duct tape as the adhesive and fiberglass insulation as the gauze].

I think more often then not, if I was completely honest in my personal assessment of my personal strain or pain, I would realize that what I needed wasn’t 15 minutes more of Angry Birds, a king-sized Snickers bar, a few deep breaths in my recliner or a combination of all of the above. Better than a bandaid would be to quit looking for ‘boo-boos’ and recognize that I feel the best when I don’t go looking for the worst. I’m all about admitting weakness when weakness is present but surrendering to that part of us that would exaggerate a scratch to a gape, a bump to a break or a lull to a coma does nothing more than lower our expectations for ‘future-self’ and the troubles he will surely face.

What do you think? Is there such a thing as adult Princess bandaids? And do you think they are a harmless accessory or do they kryptonite our resolve as individuals to do hard things and accept that we are much better off than part of us wants to believe?

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