My son, Nate, hurt his finger yesterday.
When I say “hurt”, I don’t mean that he got his finger caught in some giant smasher…or grinder….or anything horrible like that.
That’s horrible….I shouldn’t have even written that…..
He hurt the very tip of his pinky finger, somehow.
I think that he scraped it a little bit jumping off of the porch railing.
It was hurt….but you couldn’t see the damage, even if you looked really closely.
But he wanted a band-aid, so we put one on it.
I don’t know what kind of band-aid it was….maybe a superhero one….or one with Pokemon on it.
I’m not sure.
Nate had his band-aid and felt better about the situation.
It wasn’t an “OWEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE” any more.
Over the course of the evening, we must have put 10 band-aids on that former “oweeeeeeeeeeeeee”, though.
What seemed to happen was that the band-aid’s mojo was only effective when the band-aid stayed on Nate’s finger.
At least, that’s what Nate told me.
Something about the “efficacy”….whatever that means.
I’m kidding….Nate didn’t say “mojo” or “efficacy”….I’m only kidding.
So when the comfort provided by the band-aid allowed Nate to resume wild play, the band-aid would fall off and the “oweeeeeeeeee” was revealed again.
And that’s why we needed 10 band-aids over the course of the evening.
The evening was coursing by….and the band-aid box was getting lighter and lighter.
We survived, though.
This morning, I suspect that Nate won’t even remember needing all those band-aids.
When I got up this morning, I was thinking about those band-aids, though.
I was thinking about only needing something unnecessary when I noticed that it was gone.
I was thinking about creating a need or a habit that sticks around a lot longer than the original “pain”…that I look at everyday and am comforted by whatever “band-aid” I’ve created to buy myself some relief, that I forget about until the figurative band-aid falls off again and I go running back to the figurative band-aid box for some new cover-up.
I’m not full of angst.
For the most part, I’m a pretty happy guy…now.
I’ve had my moments of prolonged sadness and confusion….loneliness….and I’m probably not alone in those feelings.
The sad part makes the good part….good, though.
And….I’m pretty happy now.
And, you know, it could have been that Nate just wanted a new Pokemon on his finger every chance that he got to get one.
He’s a pretty crafty little guy….maybe it was just a clever ruse to get some new Pikachu action going….maybe the finger was just a cover-up for a way to get some new cool band-aid more often than Daddy would have allowed otherwise?
I don’t really know.
Who knows the hearts of men?
Who knows what lengths they will go to trying to support a heavy Pokemon band-aid habit?
I guess that the thing that was funny about it all is that Nate didn’t have any idea that his finger was still in great pain …..the kind of pain that demands multiple Pikachu applications….until he noticed that the band-aid was gone.
That darn band-aid….can’t live without it.
And you sure can’t help but notice when it’s gone if it’s the only thing helping you get over the pain of old injuries.
Duck and cover….duck and cover….cover it all up and forget it…until the next time Pikachu falls off.
(Our band-aids weren’t as cool as the ones in the picture….they weren’t import Pokemon band-aids…they weren’t collectible band-aids….)