...there is something that 2 or 3 year olds love about band-aids. As a parent of such a child, I now understand why my parents never bought any band-aid that didn’t share its glamour with my mother’s pantyhose.
J. McKay / As many parents could ratify, there is something that 2 or 3 year olds love about band-aids. As a parent of such a child, I now understand why my parents never bought any band-aid 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 band-aids 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 band-aids are not screenshots of Saturday morning cartoons, I, like many adults, am guilty of placebo band-aids used to cover wounds that don’t exist much beyond a desire to cover something with a band-aid.
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 band-aids 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 band-aids 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 band-aid 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?