The Power of a Band-aid

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Abstract

that came asking for a band-aid after a fall on the playground. But my friend was right. After about a minute of gently applying the paper towel on the injury, the student happily ran off to play. The power of the band-aid could be transferred to the scratchy towels if prescribed with enough care.Yet just like Santa or the tooth fairy, someday band-aids loose their supernatural healing powers. When does it happen, I wonder, is it gradual or all of sudden? I imagine it is when the emotional injuries begin to hurt worse than the physical ones. There is no heart sized band-aid after all. No special designs for heartbreaks or betrayals.Lately, I have been longing for the power of a band-aid in my own life. The recent discovery of a family secret opened childhood wounds that I didn’t even know existed. They bleed and bleed and some days I think there is nothing that can take the pain away.“It hurts so bad”, I tell my husband. He looks at me helplessly, “I know” he says, “I wish I could make it go away.” I think o

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f my son, running off to play after the careful placement of the band-aid on what I was sure was a devastating injury. I think of kindergartners with giant scrapes, somehow soothed by a damp piece of commercial paper towel. I think of what my teacher friend told me, all those years ago, “it’s not the band-aids, its the act of caring.”And so I imagine acts of caring as little band-aids applied gently to my wounds. I imagine it in the way my friend listens attentively as I complain about my son’s current nap strike for the 1000th time. I imagine it in the way the barista at my favorite coffee shop remembers my order. I imagine it in the way my son rests his head on my shoulder as we watch tv.I imagine it in the way my husband says I know- seeing my pain, caring for me in it. Just as we do with children who claim to be badly hurt, even if we can’t see it. We pick them up in our arms, rub their back and gently place a band-aid on their wounds. And though it’s just a little strip, they are somehow all better.</article></body>

On finding healing in acts of caring

Photo by Dmitri Maruta on DepositPhotos

All parents know the power of a band-aid. The small strips have the ability to instantly stop tears and heal even the biggest wounds. My son, newly 2, is going through a band-aid phase. He likes to line them up on his legs, like artwork, 3 rows on each side. It may seem wasteful, but I don’t mind. I am happy to have a foolproof way to comfort him when he gets injured.

As a kindergarten teacher, I couldn’t afford the luxury of limitless band-aids. After going through the classroom pack the first week of school, I asked my mentor teacher for advice. “It’s not the band-aid itself,” she explained, “just the act of feeling cared for. A wet paper towel will do the trick.” I was skeptical as I offered the soggy paper towel to the next student that came asking for a band-aid after a fall on the playground. But my friend was right. After about a minute of gently applying the paper towel on the injury, the student happily ran off to play. The power of the band-aid could be transferred to the scratchy towels if prescribed with enough care.

Yet just like Santa or the tooth fairy, someday band-aids loose their supernatural healing powers. When does it happen, I wonder, is it gradual or all of sudden? I imagine it is when the emotional injuries begin to hurt worse than the physical ones. There is no heart sized band-aid after all. No special designs for heartbreaks or betrayals.

Lately, I have been longing for the power of a band-aid in my own life. The recent discovery of a family secret opened childhood wounds that I didn’t even know existed. They bleed and bleed and some days I think there is nothing that can take the pain away.

“It hurts so bad”, I tell my husband. He looks at me helplessly, “I know” he says, “I wish I could make it go away.” I think of my son, running off to play after the careful placement of the band-aid on what I was sure was a devastating injury. I think of kindergartners with giant scrapes, somehow soothed by a damp piece of commercial paper towel. I think of what my teacher friend told me, all those years ago, “it’s not the band-aids, its the act of caring.”

And so I imagine acts of caring as little band-aids applied gently to my wounds. I imagine it in the way my friend listens attentively as I complain about my son’s current nap strike for the 1000th time. I imagine it in the way the barista at my favorite coffee shop remembers my order. I imagine it in the way my son rests his head on my shoulder as we watch tv.

I imagine it in the way my husband says I know- seeing my pain, caring for me in it. Just as we do with children who claim to be badly hurt, even if we can’t see it. We pick them up in our arms, rub their back and gently place a band-aid on their wounds. And though it’s just a little strip, they are somehow all better.