whaaa happened?

some of my fondest memories from my childhood involve my dad and how he'd take care of me and my brother. of course, we were lucky enough to have mom around, too (still are, thank goodness) and she cared for us to no end. but a lot of times in common culture, it's assumed that the mother figure will be responsible for caretaking.

my dad has always played a big part in raising us. when i came inside with a cut or scrape, he was Dr. Dad and cleaned me up with bactine, peroxide, neosporin, you name it. i'd be bandaged up in no time and after a kiss and sympathy from him, ready to go. he'd wake me up in the middle of the night to give me cough medicine and a sip of water when i was sick. the list is endless, but the story is the same. Dad was always there.

so i was home in Monterey this past weekend. the weekend before, i had snagged a hangnail on my thumb and ripped the skin pretty badly. of course, i cleaned it out and covered it, but it didn't get better. probably doesn't help that i had gloves off, then on, then off, then on all week at work and had to change my band-aid a few times each day. but, that aside, i'd alternate between airing it out, letting it bleed, getting rid of pus, covering it, washing it, disinfecting it, etc. i was almost convinced that i had, for the first time, had an infected wound.

when i was at my folks' house, my dad insisted on cleaning it. here i am, over 30 years old, and he was playing doctor again. he did nothing new - cleaned it with peroxide, put on neosporin, then covered it with a band-aid. what do you know? it was better the next day.

sure, it was probably healing already, and would have had my dad not intervened, but i prefer to think that he worked his Dr. Dad magic once again.