The Band-Aid

I discovered three things recently, all concerning this blog.

First, the usefulness of my writer’s notebook has faded. Last year, I took it with me everywhere, prepared to write down any thoughts and impressions that seemed worthwhile. Still, I only filled half of it because I soon found that while I got a few good pages in, there was too much pressure. Being OCD, I felt like I had to write an entire page on any given thought if I were to write it at all. I turned down countless opportunities to write for this reason alone. Also, writing by hand takes too long. When I get an idea, by the time I 1. find the notebook 2. frantically search for a pen 3. title the entry 4. think of a good start 5. write the idea down, see I’ve already lost it. By the time I accomplish all that my idea has cooled, and what’s the point of writing an old idea? It’s like eating cold soup. Yuck.

Second, I’m starting to get lost in the catacombs of my hard drive every time I go to look for a document. There are simply too many. After I stopped hanging out with my beloved notebook, I started throwing bits and pieces onto random documents and hiding them somewhere impossible to find in my (supposedly) well-organized filing system. So much for that, I can’t ever find a thing.
And third, after getting all depressed because both my notebook AND my computer have failed me, I thought of another great idea. I have a blog, which I never use, that I could dump all my thoughts into instead. The rest is very, very recent history.
So, this being the first (real) post, I felt like some kind of introduction was needed–you know, to ease it into society. All that being said, I think I can move on now.

My youngest brother, Brevin, is the type of kid who is always, always dirty. He spends all day playing outside and has the ultimate farmer’s tan (which is pretty sweet). Also, being the youngest with two older brothers (plus his older sisters, but we don’t bother him much) he usually has a few scrapes or bruises on him at all times. If he didn’t come in screaming every time something happened to him, you’d think he liked getting injured. Really–band-aids are the mark of power for that kid.
Today while laying by him during a movie, I noticed an old band-aid of his was coming off. I asked him if I could remove it and promised I’m do it gently.

The response was immediate. “No.”

“Please?” I begged with puppy-dog eyes.

“No.”
I reached toward his elbow.

“No!! It’s still on!” He grabbed his arm around the band-aid, squirming away from me.
I gave up. There’s no messing with that kid. Fact about Brevin #2.

But as I turned away from my five-year-old brother, I couldn’t help but think how silly it was to hold on to old wounds, and I thought, That’s exactly what everyone in this world is doing right now.

It seems these days that everyone is angry. At others, at themselves. Even at situations they can’t control. Everywhere you look, there is anger lurking.
For those people who affected by what I now think of as a curse, the hatred does not go away easily. Even after it is long gone, they hold on to the grudges, the offenses. In the same why my little brother held onto the band-aid, so ready to fall off and yet for some reason he couldn’t let it go.

I’m not going to say I’m perfect, or completely immune to the world. But I can honestly say that anger is not something holding me down. The thing about it, though, is that I can’t understand those who are affected by it. I can’t fathom why people hold onto grudges their whole lives, why past misunderstandings can haunt someone till they die. For someone who doesn’t need a band-aid, I don’t understand the fear, the anxiety over the prospect of letting one go. Maybe someday I will, but for now I’ll just have to guess at what it would be like.

Would I, like my brother, refuse to tear off an old band-aid?