Thursday, July 21, 2005
A Six-Year-Old with an Existential Crisis
My son is obsessed with death. He is six. If he were sixteen, he might be one of those pale, gothy teenagers, wearing black and talking about philosophy.
Now at six, he just comes up with a question every couple of days, and often he asks the question while sobbing because he has gotten himself worked up with worry about his own eventual demise.
“Will I be able to see my skin when I am dead?”
“Will we eat food?”
One night he was inconsolable because he realized that I would die first, and he would be left alone. And of course at six the thought that he will probably be an adult and able to cope has no meaning.
A few months ago, when his birthday was getting close, he said that he wished he didn’t have to have a birthday because then he would be closer to dying. A bloody six year old, worried about getting old!
Now today, he has come up with something new. He says that being alive is like being in a video game. We have to play all the levels then, finally we get a game over and we are dead. Then, we get to go to a whole new game.
I hope that eases his angst.
I hope that he is a lot older before he realizes that there may be no new game.
Now at six, he just comes up with a question every couple of days, and often he asks the question while sobbing because he has gotten himself worked up with worry about his own eventual demise.
“Will I be able to see my skin when I am dead?”
“Will we eat food?”
One night he was inconsolable because he realized that I would die first, and he would be left alone. And of course at six the thought that he will probably be an adult and able to cope has no meaning.
A few months ago, when his birthday was getting close, he said that he wished he didn’t have to have a birthday because then he would be closer to dying. A bloody six year old, worried about getting old!
Now today, he has come up with something new. He says that being alive is like being in a video game. We have to play all the levels then, finally we get a game over and we are dead. Then, we get to go to a whole new game.
I hope that eases his angst.
I hope that he is a lot older before he realizes that there may be no new game.
Tuesday, July 05, 2005
"Sometimes Big People talk in their Room and then Lock the Door..."
The above is a quote from my three-year-old daughter.
She stated it in a matter of fact tone to my husband and me as we emerged from the bedroom on Sunday morning after about five minutes with the door locked. (It is amazing how having children makes one very good at quickies.)
It was as though she were trying to justify our actions, probably thinking to herself, "It is weird that they kicked me out and locked the door, but that is what big people do, I guess."
She stated it in a matter of fact tone to my husband and me as we emerged from the bedroom on Sunday morning after about five minutes with the door locked. (It is amazing how having children makes one very good at quickies.)
It was as though she were trying to justify our actions, probably thinking to herself, "It is weird that they kicked me out and locked the door, but that is what big people do, I guess."
