Obvious Statements
It's true. Having a child has completely changed the way I look at the world. As a youngster myself, I had grand ideas of my intellectual capacity and felt that my less fortunate peers would perish of their own stupidity. Darwin rules all and my brilliant dog would have her day. Now that I am older I wish I hadn't learned things in such a haphazard manner.
Just about anyone who has the sensitivity of a gnat has had an experience with a child while watching television, a film, or reading a book that was just a little too advanced for their particular developmental stage. You may not recognize it until you see that look of absolute shock- eyelids peeled back, ears retreating toward the back of the skull like scared puppies, and pupils the size of frisbees. It is almost as if, at that moment, the brain has taken in so much information that it begins leaking out of the eyeballs. It is at this moment you instinctively begin censoring yourself, over-explaining the issue, or rushing to turn things off or close them down nervously looking up in the air humming a forced "tra la la la la" until the awkward moment passes. Now, if you've had that moment once, imagine having it every day.
Perhaps I take the constant firing of synapses in my child's brain too seriously. Granted, I'm not Rick Moranis in "Parenthood" but Sullivan's emotional, intellectual and social development rank high on my list of priorities. It is on this front that I have waged my war on popular culture for the past three and a half years. It's not a new war. I have fought it in my own way for at least a couple of decades. Sometimes I am spot on and sometimes I take it a bit too far.
For example, when Sullivan was about a year old I bought this HBO video of "Goodnight Moon". It's a sweet collection with songs and different stories read by various Hollywood notables (the title selection being read my Susan Sarandon) with cute interviews with little kids about dreams, bedtime rituals, and, in a strange dark turn, death. One of the story selections is Mercer Mayer's "There's a Nightmare in My Closet" read by Billy Crystal. Now, this series of stories is one of my favorites in the Mercer Mayer canon, but I ashamed to admit that I have followed Billy Crystal's lead when I read the story to Sullivan. You see, at one point the boy in the story who has decided to rid himself of the dreaded nightmare in his closet threatens the Nightmare with a pop gun by saying "Go away Nightmare, or I'll shoot you!". Turn the page and it reads "I shot him anyway." In Billy Crystal's version he says "...I'll get you" and "I got him anyway." The illustration is exactly the same. So why do I follow along? Especially since I am the only parent in all of fucking Brooklyn that has allowed her 3 year old to have both a toy rifle and a toy pistol?
Ah, the human is a complex animal, is it not? I don't want to make guns and gunplay forbidden because I do not want to make it more attractive than it already is. Plus, when he gets older I am sure he will be offered the opportunity to shoot with his Grandfather and his Uncle and I won't deny him a sport that I once took part in as a young person. He knows I don't much like them. I've told him that guns are designed to kill. He has a vague understanding of the facts, although he still insists on calling it a "fistol" while holding the barrel and shooting through the grips making a noise that sounds like "Hoyle! Hoyle! Hoyle!". Despite my little lesson in holding the gun, use of the trigger and lining up the sites, he prefers his method. However, he is quick to point out to strangers the orange tip on his gun because he does not want to get in trouble with the police. "It's not real!" Well, at least he has accepted that much. Since the idea of the existence of guns and their dangers is begrudgingly accepted by me, why is their use something that I have covered up? Because awful, horrible, bloody death is not really something I want him to know about yet. But he probably should.
Then there are the cold hard facts of life. Animals eat other animals. We (some of us, that is) eat other animals. Sullivan and I have discussed this. Yet, I cannot bring myself to read to him certain sections of "The REAL Story of the 3 Little Pigs as Told by A. Wolf". Told from the wolf's perspective it is pretty funny for a five year old. But I could see that look of absolute shock when it became obvious that in this version of the story the pigs become lunch. In my homespun version the pigs all run to the brick house and dial 911 to have the police to take the stalker wolf away. Forget Hansel and Gretel. I don't think I'll be able to tell that one. Especially since I have a little special place in my heart for witches and I simply cannot malign them by having them eat children. Witches are really cool, I love the pointy hats and noses.
Tom and I took Sullivan to see "March of the Penguins" this weekend. It was a lovely little film, but Sully's death fixation came out at various points throughout the film. "Did they die? Have they died yet? Will it be over when they die? Did it died? Is that one died?" It's a pretty soft film that deals with the harshness of life and death in a fairly gentle way. However, at one point a penguin chick gets eaten by a bird. Sullivan handled it well. "Did it die? It got eaten?" However, this little girl behind me broke my heart. As soon as the bird began pecking at the chick while other chicks were running in terror and some adult penguins looked on dispassionately this girl began wailing with grief. It was the kind of grief you only hear of at funerals for children and pop stars. It just seemed so righteously unfair to her that this should happen. Why is the world like this? She howled for a few moments as her father attemted to comfort her with her brother sitting on his lap. Finally she began sucking in air with great gusto saying "I...just...need to keep...breathing so I ...don't...CRY ANYMORE!" I applaud her determination to cope and face these hard realities, but I wish she never had to be disappointed or hurt like that. Now, I know that isn't realistic and exposing our kids to reality is a duty we owe them. But every once in awhile I howl over the loss of penguin chicks too.
Just about anyone who has the sensitivity of a gnat has had an experience with a child while watching television, a film, or reading a book that was just a little too advanced for their particular developmental stage. You may not recognize it until you see that look of absolute shock- eyelids peeled back, ears retreating toward the back of the skull like scared puppies, and pupils the size of frisbees. It is almost as if, at that moment, the brain has taken in so much information that it begins leaking out of the eyeballs. It is at this moment you instinctively begin censoring yourself, over-explaining the issue, or rushing to turn things off or close them down nervously looking up in the air humming a forced "tra la la la la" until the awkward moment passes. Now, if you've had that moment once, imagine having it every day.
Perhaps I take the constant firing of synapses in my child's brain too seriously. Granted, I'm not Rick Moranis in "Parenthood" but Sullivan's emotional, intellectual and social development rank high on my list of priorities. It is on this front that I have waged my war on popular culture for the past three and a half years. It's not a new war. I have fought it in my own way for at least a couple of decades. Sometimes I am spot on and sometimes I take it a bit too far.
For example, when Sullivan was about a year old I bought this HBO video of "Goodnight Moon". It's a sweet collection with songs and different stories read by various Hollywood notables (the title selection being read my Susan Sarandon) with cute interviews with little kids about dreams, bedtime rituals, and, in a strange dark turn, death. One of the story selections is Mercer Mayer's "There's a Nightmare in My Closet" read by Billy Crystal. Now, this series of stories is one of my favorites in the Mercer Mayer canon, but I ashamed to admit that I have followed Billy Crystal's lead when I read the story to Sullivan. You see, at one point the boy in the story who has decided to rid himself of the dreaded nightmare in his closet threatens the Nightmare with a pop gun by saying "Go away Nightmare, or I'll shoot you!". Turn the page and it reads "I shot him anyway." In Billy Crystal's version he says "...I'll get you" and "I got him anyway." The illustration is exactly the same. So why do I follow along? Especially since I am the only parent in all of fucking Brooklyn that has allowed her 3 year old to have both a toy rifle and a toy pistol?
Ah, the human is a complex animal, is it not? I don't want to make guns and gunplay forbidden because I do not want to make it more attractive than it already is. Plus, when he gets older I am sure he will be offered the opportunity to shoot with his Grandfather and his Uncle and I won't deny him a sport that I once took part in as a young person. He knows I don't much like them. I've told him that guns are designed to kill. He has a vague understanding of the facts, although he still insists on calling it a "fistol" while holding the barrel and shooting through the grips making a noise that sounds like "Hoyle! Hoyle! Hoyle!". Despite my little lesson in holding the gun, use of the trigger and lining up the sites, he prefers his method. However, he is quick to point out to strangers the orange tip on his gun because he does not want to get in trouble with the police. "It's not real!" Well, at least he has accepted that much. Since the idea of the existence of guns and their dangers is begrudgingly accepted by me, why is their use something that I have covered up? Because awful, horrible, bloody death is not really something I want him to know about yet. But he probably should.
Then there are the cold hard facts of life. Animals eat other animals. We (some of us, that is) eat other animals. Sullivan and I have discussed this. Yet, I cannot bring myself to read to him certain sections of "The REAL Story of the 3 Little Pigs as Told by A. Wolf". Told from the wolf's perspective it is pretty funny for a five year old. But I could see that look of absolute shock when it became obvious that in this version of the story the pigs become lunch. In my homespun version the pigs all run to the brick house and dial 911 to have the police to take the stalker wolf away. Forget Hansel and Gretel. I don't think I'll be able to tell that one. Especially since I have a little special place in my heart for witches and I simply cannot malign them by having them eat children. Witches are really cool, I love the pointy hats and noses.
Tom and I took Sullivan to see "March of the Penguins" this weekend. It was a lovely little film, but Sully's death fixation came out at various points throughout the film. "Did they die? Have they died yet? Will it be over when they die? Did it died? Is that one died?" It's a pretty soft film that deals with the harshness of life and death in a fairly gentle way. However, at one point a penguin chick gets eaten by a bird. Sullivan handled it well. "Did it die? It got eaten?" However, this little girl behind me broke my heart. As soon as the bird began pecking at the chick while other chicks were running in terror and some adult penguins looked on dispassionately this girl began wailing with grief. It was the kind of grief you only hear of at funerals for children and pop stars. It just seemed so righteously unfair to her that this should happen. Why is the world like this? She howled for a few moments as her father attemted to comfort her with her brother sitting on his lap. Finally she began sucking in air with great gusto saying "I...just...need to keep...breathing so I ...don't...CRY ANYMORE!" I applaud her determination to cope and face these hard realities, but I wish she never had to be disappointed or hurt like that. Now, I know that isn't realistic and exposing our kids to reality is a duty we owe them. But every once in awhile I howl over the loss of penguin chicks too.
posted by Bree O'Connor at 1:36 AM
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