Caleb Wants to Know When He Can Give Blood

One of the fathers on the bleachers at Tuesday's practice had a purple wrap around the inside of his elbow, and Caleb saw it before I did. "What happened to his arm?" I said he'd probably given blood at lunch. Caleb thought about that for an inning and a half and then asked when he could do it. Seventeen, in most places. "That's six years," he said, like I'd moved the date on him.

On Friday the Church announced a gift of more than $7 million to the American Red Cross for blood collection and disaster response, and I read the announcement standing at the counter with Ben pulling on my pocket. As I read it, a good share is equipment: medical equipment for blood services, more of the machines that collect donations, work on the Red Cross lab in Murray. The Church also says its members give about 97,000 units of blood a year through thousands of drives. I can't picture 97,000 of anything, but I can picture Caleb's face if I call it 97,000 bags.

The Saturday I took a toddler to the stake center

Lily was about two. David had Caleb at a game that morning, so I signed up for the nine-fifteen slot and took her with me, which anyone would tell you is a bad idea, and I'll tell you it was mostly fine, if you count a diaper bag on one shoulder and a car seat I'd carried in out of habit and then set against the wall like a coat. The cultural hall smelled like floor wax and orange juice. The screening was done in a corner behind folding screens, and I answered every question with a two-year-old on my hip pulling at the nurse's pen.

A woman from two pews back took Lily to the cookie table so I could lie down. When I sat up she had a sticker on each hand and, by the nurse's count, had eaten the donor snacks of at least three donors. I sat there fifteen minutes with a juice cup because I'd gotten lightheaded, and what I remember is the wall. Somebody had taped a long strip of butcher paper along it and covered it with thank-you notes. One was in crayon. I read every one with a cup in my hand.

I haven't given since before Ben was born, first because I was pregnant and then because I was nursing and after that because I was busy, which is the real reason now.

I'd like that to change this fall.

What a kid can do at a blood drive

Neither Caleb nor Lily can give, and most states set the age at 17, with a few letting 16-year-olds donate on a parent's signature. There's a weight minimum too, so check the Red Cross rules for your own state before you promise a teenager anything. Ben, who turns three at the end of the month, can only eat the cookies.

That leaves the wall, which is where I'd start. Writing thank-you notes for donors is something I know a child can do, because I read the proof of it at nine in the morning with orange juice on my shirt. A card is also the kind of job an eight-year-old takes seriously. She'll do eleven if you let her, and one will be addressed to a horse.

What else a child can do depends entirely on the drive, so the first step is to ask whoever runs it. Some will let a kid help at a snack table with an adult standing right there. Some won't want kids near the donors at all, and that's their call. I'd ask before assuming either way.

Another job is at home. Whole blood needs about eight weeks between gifts, and somebody has to remember when those eight weeks are up. Caleb is the right child for a calendar like that. He tracks batting averages for boys he's never met.

Wherefore, be faithful; stand in the office which I have appointed unto you; succor the weak, lift up the hands which hang down, and strengthen the feeble knees.

Doctrine and Covenants 81:5

That verse was said to Frederick G. Williams about his calling in the First Presidency, so I won't claim it was written for a blood drive. But "succor the weak" has been taught to ordinary members like me for as long as I've been one, and I like how many of the weak it covers: a girl in the hospital with sickle cell, a family after a flood, a man in his eighties waiting on a transfusion.

Why start them small

I asked something like this in September about fasting, when I wrote about what a hungry eight-year-old is actually ready for. The idea is the same here. A child shouldn't be handed the adult version of giving before the adult version is hers to give. But she can start on the piece that fits, and the piece should be real, a note that someone will actually read.

Kids do better when giving has a face. I had that backwards for a long time and thought the point was the pint.

Frequently Asked Questions

How old do you have to be to give blood?

In most states it's 17, and a few allow 16 with a parent's consent. You also need to meet a weight minimum and bring proof of age. Look up your own state on the Red Cross site, because I'd rather you hear it from them than from me.

Can a younger child help at a drive?

Ask the person running it. Cards for donors are the easy yes in my experience, and a snack table with an adult beside the child might be allowed. Don't count on anything near the donor chairs.

How much did the Church give the Red Cross?

More than $7 million, announced October 2, 2026, for blood collection and disaster response in the United States. There's also a separate gift for typhoon relief in the western Pacific.

Does the Church require members to give blood?

No, and I'd be careful about anyone who says it does. Members give because they choose to, and a lot of us do it because the ward drive is two blocks away and there are cookies.

Today I'm going to find the next drive near us and take a slot, and then I'll write to whoever is running it and ask whether two kids with a box of markers would be in the way.

with love, Melissa