My wrist is wrapped in bandages right now and it is funny how my children keep looking at it with concerned expressions. “Mom what did you do to your arm?”
“I burned it right here,” I tell them, showing them the spot with my finger.
“Does it hurt?”
“Only when I brush it against something. That is why I am wearing this bandage,” I say.
“Oh, is it big?”
“No not really but the bandage is, huh?”
“Yes. How long will you have to wear it?”
“Till it feels better?” I tell them.
“How long will that take?”
“I don’t know,” I admit.
“Can you get it wet?”
“Yes, but I would prefer not to.”
“Oh.” Then they look at it really close and shrug their shoulders and go away to play.
My bandage is like Pandora’s Box. It hides something and they want so badly to see what is under it. They can imagine it is horrible and they feel very bad for me but at the same time they wish to see what lies beneath.