A Tale of a Scraped Knee

A Tale of a Scraped Knee

Yesterday, my son fell and scraped his knee.  There was blood!  Gasp!  He was absolutely hysterical.  Nothing I tried could cheer up my little man from his pitiful state (not even a Burger King Fruit Loops Milkshake!).

He was totally breaking my heart.

After a few hours, though, it started to get annoying.  He refused to walk on his own, and when he did, it was with a funky little crab squat.  He acted as if he had completely shattered his knee.  I reached my breaking point and (because I’m human) I started to express my annoyance.  I told him he needed to toughen up.  I explained to him that there are far worse things in the world than a scraped knee.  My husband and I told him that we get “boo-boos” all the time, but life still goes on.

“Com’n Jackson, it’s just a little scraped knee.”  As soon as the words came out of my mouth, I immediately regretted them.

To my three-year-old, it wasn’t just a scraped knee.  In the eyes of a three-year-old, this scraped knee was a traumatic experience.  There was blood!  To me, it might have just been a little blood, hardly enough for a Band-Aid.  But to Jackson, this was the worst boo-boo he ever had.

Sometimes we have to be reminded to put ourselves in our children’s shoes.  Try to remember those days of scraped knees, before life had real problems.  Maybe we should let our kids make big deals of the little boo-boos.  The innocence in thinking a little scraped knee is the end of the world is actually a beautiful part of childhood.  

Let this little tale of a scraped knee remind you that what might be a small occurrence to you and me, is probably a big event in the eyes of a child.

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