“No blood, no band-aids” is our school motto. Erica holds up her finger where a band-aid hangs half off. With a soft- spoken voice she says, “I need another band-aid for my owwie.” “If you wash your hand with soap and water and allow it to have fresh air, it will heal faster,” I empathetically respond. “But, I need a band-aid…” “You can get a band-aid at home, if you like,” I reply as I could not even see a freckle and I wonder why she was given one in the first place. This is the same kid who is known as “my little peach” by her grandma and is drowned with terms of endearment and the “good job” praise. Yeah, she’s cute as a button, but coddling her with a magical band-aid is not going to build character. And adults centering attention on artificial wombs does not foster independence.
In other child centers I have substituted at, they would hand out band-aids like candy, in instances where a trickle of blood would never surface. Sometimes sweeping them up and cradling preschoolers before they have a moment to bounce back on their feet. Where have the childhood risks all gone, if we’re covering artificial wounds with band-aids?
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