Friday, April 24, 2015

"You Need A Bandaid"

We were talking about bloody owies and I showed them mine, one I'd acquired last week when I walked too far in shoes that weren't up to the task.

He said, "That's a bad owie. You need a bandaid."

I said, "I had a bandaid on it, but I took it off because it's starting to heal."

He said again, "You need a bandaid," and walked off down the hallway.

As a young two-year-old he was a boy we had to keep an eye on, always opening every door and gate, always pressing at the edges of our physical boundaries, curious about the dark hallways and rooms that are off-limits to the kids or the places outside our fences. Now, as a three-year-old, he's all about informing his classmates, "That's closed," demonstrating his mastery of those necessary limits.

When he returned he was carrying a bandaid. Ordinarily, we keep them in our first aid kit, which is one of those places that is "closed." I couldn't quite imagine that he had gotten into kit, but there he was, concentrating on peeling the wrapper, letting the bits of paper flutter to the floor. He said, "That's garbage," then threw them it the trash.

As he tended to my wound, I remembered that we recently stocked up on bandages, too many to fit in the kit, so we had left several boxes on the shelf beside the kit. Naturally, he had known about that, as his curiosity has lead him to know everything about our school, especially those shelves and corners that are not intended for children.

He tenderly cared for me, knowing exactly what to do. When he was done he said, "You're better now." He then picked up the rest of the garbage and threw it away.

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1 comment:

MissFifi said...

That was very sweet of him.