Bruises

I’m sporting two new bruises since my return from UND, and no, nobody beat me up!

The first one, a quarter-sized yellow-green splotch on my left forearm, appeared after I banged my arm on the side mirror of my car while I was packing to head north to South Bend. It’s not too bad, really — being in the middle of my arm, it doesn’t inconvenience me and it only hurts if I touch it (I know, so don’t touch it already!).

The one I received most recently is now a nickel-sized purple and green spot on my left palm, at the base between my ring and little fingers (palmistry afficionados probably have a fancy name for that spot, but I have no inkling what it could be!). I got it helping My Favorite Domer haul some winter woolies upstairs to his dorm room. I wasn’t paying attention and tripped up one stairstep; hey, at least nobody was around, so neither of us were embarrassed! Anyway, that spot is truly bothersome. It hurts too much for me to play rope-tug with my puppy (a game he loves), so I can only use my right hand and when it gets tired, game’s over (much to his chagrin!). It also means I have to be really careful holding his leash on our walks. Looking on the bright side, at least it doesn’t interfere with my typing!

You know, it’s one thing to have physical bruises, outward signs of an injury of sorts. It’s another thing to have emotional bruises. Those are the little hurts we all get, and inflict on others, every day. As a parent, you want to shield your kids from these, but maybe that’s not in their best interests. As my dad often said, “There’s enough pain in this old world for all of us.” I suppose he was right. Maybe a better thing for parents to do is to teach their kids to be sensitive to others and try hard not to spread more pain.

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