You Could Say Ouch 634.5
In his book, If I Were to Raise My Family Again, John Dreschler tells of a little boy trying to get his father’s attention after scraping his knee.
His dad impatiently looks up from his paper and barks, “Well, what can I do about it?”
The boy, hurt by his harsh response, shrugs and says, “You could say ‘Ouch.’”
You could say ouch. What a wonderful metaphor to remind us of the power and importance of caring and taking the time to show it. The boy wasn’t asking his dad to solve a problem; he was simply trying to share an event.
Because I have a tendency to focus on fixing rather than feeling, I too have to remind myself that empathy is not an intellectual ability; it’s an emotional quality with healing power that works only when expressed. Sometimes just listening and showing genuine interest and compassion is all that’s needed. With four young daughters and a sensitive wife, I’m still learning that tenderness is more important than toughness.
When my kids were little, the remedy for every “ouchie” was a kiss from mommy or daddy directly on the wounded area. In serious cases, a bandage was also required. It’s easy to laugh at, but there’s something truly wonderful about how often a loving kiss makes things better for young children.
We shouldn’t underestimate the healing power of sincere compassion, concern, and affection. And we ought to try it more on adults. Take a moment to acknowledge their ouchies, too, and simply be there – with a kiss, a hug, or a kind word of consolation.
This is Michael Josephson reminding you that character counts.
Subscribe
Comments
When I visit dad at the nursing home, the limitations of what can be fixed are on display. So many are in the autumn of their lives or irreparably crippled. I speak with every person as I walk the corridors to my father's ward. Some are kissed, others hugged, but all receive a warm smile. I recognize these are people who were young and vibrant once. In them, I see me.
When sitting with papa, after he is spent from telling stories I've heard scores of times, we descend to quiet intervals of simply holding hands. All is well during these moments of nothing. I have learned that what is needed ALL the time is what is appropriate for the moment.
Posted by: Angelae D. Le'Chastaignier | September 3, 2009 10:43 PM
My grown children still laugh about the healing properties of water. I would wash off almost any "owwie" my children would bring me. I would then look at the wound and pronounce it well on its way to getting better. My children would return to their play confident that the wound would heal. I smile to myself knowing my children apparently don't realize that time, attention, and love were the real healing agents.
Posted by: Betty Woody | September 4, 2009 5:27 AM
As a school counselor, so often all I can do is show compassion and concern. I cannot fix the problem, and I cannot change the circumstances for a young life. However, I can let that child know that in me they have a friend and I will help them in carrying that load. I have to believe that this alone will be sufficient to bring strength and courage to my young friend.
Posted by: David | September 4, 2009 5:36 AM
I am the grandmother of a 7-year-old boy with Down syndrome. I have arthritis and when I get out of a chair, I tend to say "ouch" a couple of times. When my grandson is nearby and hears me, he always says, "I sorry." His speech isn't great yet, but his heart is obvious. He didn't do anything to cause my pain, but he wants to do something to make it better. He has to wear splints because of weak ankles that cause him much pain. Despite his own pain, he doesn't want anyone around him to hurt. We can all learn from individuals with Down syndrome. I try to learn lessons from him every day about caring and perseverence.
Posted by: Kay | September 8, 2009 12:22 PM