I was sketching a detail of a roof, and on the background an episode of Emergency Room: Life and Death at Vancouver General was playing.
And it occurred to me that, being a person who routinely "visited" emergency rooms when I was a teenager - to a point where I once remember stepping in there after yet another fall or something and the admitting doctor going, "Oh, it's you again! Good afternoon. So what brings you here today?" - I am now less scared of my own children having injuries that need to take them to emergency rooms, because... I am now familiar with the procedure.
Sure, when The Kid got his toe stuck in the back wheel of a bicycle a few weeks ago and lifted his toenail right off the nailbed, every adult in this household had a little shiver down the spine because personally we have never lifted toenails and so it looked kind of... gross to us, so we're not immune to blood and goo and vomit.
But what I mean is: the look of the emergency room itself doesn't freak me out, even if the injury itself does.
It's the same with our experience with a New Zealand court: a few months ago when we had to attend a court meeting to sort out the problems between ourselves and our landlord, just sitting in the waiting room there was enough to kind of go, "Geesh!" But now that I've experienced it and I know what it looks like, from the inside, it's not that scary any more.
It's... familiarity. The fact that I've gone through an experience itself means that I now have a heightened capacity to face adversity in the future.
PS. A bit of an off-topic: we've started to wonder if The Kid is red-green color blind. He's starting to get the hang of colours and it's wonderful to see, except: red and green are the two colours he is consistently getting mixed up somehow.
Yesterday the pointed to his bicycle, "Red!" (Or, to be precise, in is language it sounds more like, "Iieeeed!")
"Yes, red! Good boy," I replied, "And what color is this?" I pointed towards his green swing.
"Red!" he claimed excitedly.
"No, that's green," I argued. "See? This [the swing] is green, and this [the bicycle] is red."
"No, no, no, no," he shouted back at me, "Red!" He pointed to his bicycle, "Red!" and then he pointed towards his swing, "Red!" And then he looked up at me with that wide, wide yes-I-am-a-superhero smile to which I could only go, "Well alright then. I think it's time that we go have a sandwich in the kitchen =)"
But even sitting here and writing about it I just kind of think, well, yeah, so we'll just add that to the things we talk about at our next therapy session. Big deal.