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Kurt Johnson
When does a kid’s injury require a trip to the doctor, and when is a hug and a “suck it up” pep talk the right call?
As a young parent I remember a few occasions when we ended up in the ER, like the time Robyn caught her earring on the couch and ripped it clean through her ear. Paula reacted in a flash, smashing a washcloth against the ear and rushing her to the emergency room for stitches. In fact, for the most part, Dr. Mom did a masterful job in our house treating ailments, injured elbows and egos like a paid professional.
I thought about how and if things have changed in the almost 30 years since our kids were little after reading a thought-providing piece in the Wall Street Journal by Mike Kerrigan, an attorney from North Carolina. In his home, any blood from him or his brother required a visit to “the box,” which he described as a vintage metal first-aid kit marked with a giant red cross. So foreboding it was, he shared, that on approach he would ask himself if he was really sick, or injured, or if he was better off icing up and shaking it of.
That’s a pretty good approach to parenting, I thought as I read on -- Offer aid when your kid is really hurt or ill, but try to build up some tolerance while you’re at it, as well as a filter for when there’s really nothing seriously the matter. That can be a fine line, I suppose, perhaps more so in today’s world, which made me both reflect on my own parenting skills and laugh out loud as I read more about “the box.”
Inside, the writer finally revealed, there were only four items: aspirin, a tube of Ben-Gay, a beige ACE bandage and a rosary. Being Catholic myself, I had to chuckle with his parents’ lesson plan, which was that “the universe of childhood maladies consisted solely of headaches, charley horses, pulled hamstrings and spiritual despondency.”
In today’s world, with bullies just a screenshot away on a cell phone and so much random bad stuff happening with shocking regularity, it’s harder for parents to create such a care-free environment. But, when it comes to the smaller stuff, things that can get blown out of proportion if parents let it, “the box” could still be an effective tool.
Funny enough, this young man grew up believing that those were the only bad things that could befall him. It made for a care-free childhood in which headaches, thigh bruises and tweaked muscled passed quickly and God was always just a conversation away.
Once he left for college, Mr. Kerrigan realized he might need medical attention beyond what “the box” could deliver, but by that time it had done its job.
Sounds to me like every household should have its own version of “the box,” offering the most basic tender loving care, as well as lessons on life.
KURT JOHNSON can be reached at kjohnson@ hamilton.net
