Kids + BAND-AIDS = Unbridled Obsession.


I recently posted about kids and elevators highlighting their fascination with pressing buttons, transporting themselves up and down, a complete joke to adults.  But kids freaking love this vertical crap.  What else do kids dig?  BAND-AIDS.  This is totally appropriate considering their propensity for falling down.  Kids often fall in slow motion, too, revealing endless seconds of time before impact.  It’s fairly entertaining.

And what about the sheer number of BAND-AID brands?!  It’s ridiculous.   Kids gravitate to these crazy strips of grafted plastic because they’re seduced by the biblically sized monopoly of childhood representatives. Spongebob, Cinderella, Dora, Spiderman, Elmo, Curious George, the list goes on.  Hello Kitty, too.

Considering their massive appeal these badges of courage demand an in-depth study, rather than this–a passing blog post.  So let’s get scientific.  Let’s do a case study.  If you’ve come this far you’re crazy enough to read on.

Actual Scientific Case Study:

My two-year old wipes out on a regular basis, and I get it, gravity takes no prisoners, but it’s criminal that the slightest pitch in pavement is cause for a full-on face plant.  Her knees resemble crosshatching hieroglyphs.

Anyhooch, the kid is tough as nails but the need for a BAND-AID proves overriding.

AHHHH-hah-hah-haaaaa!!!”  Sounding a little like David Lee Roth, defeated by an uneven berm in the driveway, she‘s down. The result is grisly.

Rushing to her, employing one of her many ridiculous nicknames that make no sense, “I got you Beesh-kee.” I’m such a sap.

Of course, I know, she wants Mommy but I offer relief nonetheless.  Realistically, who doesn’t want Mommy when they’re hurt?  I take no offense.

“Mah–mee, mah-meeeeeeee!!”

I’m out of the picture, but not useless.  Like a savior I go for the ultimate panacea: a BAND-AID. This simple step makes me a hero, arriving astride on a fine medicinal steed, draped in a luxuriant American flag, adhesive in hand.  Fact.

Post-care triage my daughter eventually cools, returning to normal, admiring her badge of courage, constantly reminding us of her ordeal.

Bringing her knee into unmistakable view over dinner, “Boo-boo… boo-boo.”  She couldn’t be cuter.

So that’s it, kids adore BAND-AIDs.  But this gets me thinking, not so fast.  It’s not like BAND-AIDS are the sole experience whereby something covers their skin.  If we’re lucky, kids generally wear clothes.  So this must be a fascination with frequency.  Although super rare, I’m hyper-aware when I sport a BAND-AID mainly because irritation pangs from a location where none previously existed.  I’m constantly reminded of that paper-cut on my index finger, a separate droning heartbeat.  This–the adult BAND-AID situation–draws attention from both kids and adults.

Abandoning eye contact, glaring at the BAND-AID, motionless with horror, “What happened?!

“Oh, this?  There was a low-flying airplane.”  I’m a jack-ass.

People instinctively want to know why you’re hurt.  So maybe this isn’t about frequency at all.  It’s about mortality, the sight of blood.  I’m not making this stuff up, so watch your step.

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