A
hhh, summer! Te kids will soon be out of school and enjoying the long hot days in their summer uniforms: shorts,
flip flops, T shirts, sunscreen, and most importantly Band-Aids.
As a carefree Dad who youthfully embraces high adventure on swing sets, spectacular tricks on skateboards, and tie-breaking slides into home plate, I have become intimately re- acquainted with the Band-Aid. We have so many boxes at home that I could wallpaper a hospital wing.
For my younger children, Band-Aids are first and foremost a fashion item, and the slightest scrape justifies their use. When they were toddlers I could kiss their misfortunate boo boos and make them feel better. But somewhere along the line old-fashioned caring gave way to caring in the latest fashion. Now the only way I can erase their tears is with plastic adhesive strips festooned with Batman, Dora the Explorer, or Jimmy Neutron. In summer their legs look like a running advertisement for the Cartoon Network.
In case you haven’t noticed, the boring, flesh-tone Band-Aids of our youth have been supplanted with colorful cartoon characters, comic action heroes, and the latest movie super heroes. And I am sure that somewhere are corporate Band- Aids adorned with the Nike swoosh, the stylish “YSL” of Yves Saint Laurent, or even the 800 number for Jacoby and Myers. Given the high visibility of Band-Aids in the summer, the marketing possibilities are staggering. With a few lucrative endorsement deals, kids will never sell lemonade again.
Band-Aids nowadays also come in different shapes and sizes. Tere are Band-Aids specifically designed for toes, fingers, elbows, knuckles, knees, lips, dry kids and wet kids. Gone are the red zip strings that made Band-Aids so difficult to open. Now we have peel-apart wrappers that are difficult to open. With so much advanced technology applied to the Band-Aid, I expect them soon to incorporate plasma screens so our kids can watch movies on their knee caps.
But practically speaking, the Band-Aid has not changed at all. Te other morning before leaving the house to meet with a prospective client, I cut my forefinger on a can of cat food. Blaming all of my misfortunes in life on the cat, I quickly washed the wound, and then using my leſt hand, awkwardly wound a Band-Aid around the end of my finger. It didn’t stick
76 | AKA Mom | Summer 2011
SUPER HEROES Article by: John Christmann
+First Aid
very well, so I grabbed another to place around the first. But with the semi-stuck strip of bloody adhesive draped around my finger, I couldn’t open the wrapper. Using my teeth I ripped through the protective cover and peeled off the shiny white tabs, only to have the Band-Aid fold in on itself and stick uselessly together. Aſter a dozen attempts and some more choice words for the cat, I finally controlled the bleeding. My client was suitably impressed to see a Princess Barbie Band-Aid wadded over my fingertip as I reached to shake her hand.
As adults who have accumulated a lifetime of injuries, both minor and major, we know that Band-Aids are, well, just “band-aids”. Tey are nothing more than temporary strips of tape and gauze to control a little bleeding. Tey don’t stop pain. Tey don’t heal wounds. Tey certainly don’t prevent accidents, despite the best efforts of the Powder Puff Girls or Sponge Bob Square Pants. But to
children, Band-Aids are the ultimate faith healers, even when they hurt more coming off than they do going on. Band-aids are imbued with a mystical quality that reflects the innocence of children not yet scarred by the larger compliment of sharp objects in life. A Band-Aid will instantly stop the tears and restore joy. And that is all that matters.
But as my kids grow older I cannot help wonder how they will respond when Band-Aids lose their super powers. Where will they turn when their feelings are hurt? When their egos are bruised? When they have been cut by the words of others? When the tears don’t readily cease? I don’t think Superman long life adhesive strips will give much comfort then.
When that day comes, maybe I can be their Band-Aid super hero. I can wrap myself around them with strong sticky arms and hold them tight in the soſt gauze of my chest. I can protect them, make them heal, ease their pain, and return their lost smiles. And maybe I can even be worn proudly like a Purple Heart. “Cool Band-Aid! Is that Shrek?” others will ask. My kids will reply: “No, it’s just my Dad. He couldn’t get the real Band-Aid out of the wrapper.”
In the meantime, as this season of cuts and scrapes and scratches sets upon us, I will happily let cartoon Band-Aids heal the unfortunate byproducts of summer fun. And wait for the day that my image too graces a magic strip of adhesive and gauze in the eyes of my kids.
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