It Was a Sad Day

It Was a Sad Day It was a sad day, that day, when I realized that I could no longer kiss away the pain and trauma of a skinned knee or solve the problem by putting a band-aid on the boo-boo. Now I sit and hold back emotions not quite my own and stifle the urge to lash out at my perception of what has caused such discomfort in the world of my children. I envision myself reaching deep inside them and ripping the fear or pain or loneliness from them, a form of parental psychic surgery. Sadly, I cannot do it. Cursing the powers that be, the fates, and the gods in vain attempt to sway their judgments I bargain and challenge. Demanding that the trial be placed on me, the pain inflicted on me, the fear and loneliness placed at my door. If I could give any advice to parents I would encourage them to carry band-aids and apply them liberally, kiss every needy boo-boo, hold every lonely hand, quietly eat ice cream while fading tears dry on the cheeks of a renewing grin. So now I hold them in my thoughts, kiss their boo-boos from a distance, and hold back the tears of aging, both theirs and mine.