I have never understood the practice of a sparkly Band-aid after a shot.
A shot is painful, big tear inducing and a Band-aid with Mickey Mouse or Sponge Bob seems like a chintzy consolation.
When my children were little they asked the inevitable question as they hopped up on the exam table in room 4.
“Is the shot going to hurt?”
I remember the first time I was asked, the eyes, the quivering lip. My answer—Yes.
I, of course, followed that with “squeeze my hand”, “it’s really quick” and “it helps if you don’t look at the needle,” but it’s a shot and they hurt.
I don’t see the sense in covering that up because when that cool sting of alcohol hits and the nurse starts counting to three, I don’t care how animated the happy dance is, your child will know pain is on the way.
Once the shot is over and the tears are flowing, “look at the pretty Band-aid” always rang ridiculous to me. Children are smarter than that.
The sticker after the doctor’s visit is another example of. . . I’m not sure what it is. Maybe it’s our need to pretty things up that are ugly or painful.
Spiderman or a popsicle will make things better.
I don’t know, but our desire for glitter often masks the uncomfortable to the point of trivializing the importance, the weight certain aches deserve.
Monday is Memorial Day.
It is not a day to celebrate our veterans or to wave our flags. Those days are Veteran’s Day and the Fourth of July. Memorial Day is a day set aside for mourning, recognizing sacrifice.
It has everything to do with death and nothing to do with party games.
One day out of three-hundred-and-sixty-five when we are called upon to pause, reflect and remember the men and women that have lost their lives, often in unimaginable circumstances, in the service of our country.
That should hurt, it should be uncomfortable.
The big shoe sale, the barbecue or the traffic jams out of town feel like we are handing out Band-aids. It’s cheap considering the pain.
There is sadness in our world that no amount of glitter can cover up. If we don’t face it, own it, and maybe give it a few minutes or even an hour, I think we forget.
Something meant as a day of remembrance turns into another day at the circus complete with clowns and opportunities to sell bags of peanuts at 30% off.
Happy Memorial Day Weekend?
To the families that have lost a person at their table, his warm hug, or the sound of her laughter, may you find peace in your memories and love with your friends and family. To the men and women currently in harm’s way, God’s speed and be safe.
My thoughts from the laundry room. Rest.
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Nice post! I once had a student who spent every Memorial Day crying. He expressed some of his anguish in an essay. In my neighborhood, an ex-Marine works out in his garage every day and keeps an eye out on the entire street of condominiums. He enjoys getting together with his friends at the American Legion on Memorial Day. Two such different perspectives. The student shared his experience at an American Indian PowWow, where one of the tribal elders helped him through some emotional difficulties and gave him a feather to commemorate their time together. He said it helped him tremendously. It is difficult to think of Memorial Day without recognizing the painful histories of those we have known who have been in service in the military. Fathers, uncles, cousins.
Hear. Hear! <3 <3 <3
So well said Tracy.
Well said!! You got me!! I totally didn’t see this message coming but well done!!! Beautiful!
As always, you hit it bang-on Tracey–I like this post very much. . . truth hurts, but it’s the truth. . .