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Seven
So he's seven now.
Tonight he cried, and told us he doesn't want to get older; he thinks the older you get, the less fun you have.
Okay, time for me to be immodest. Long ago I read a lot of Agatha Christie; Hercule Poirot was my favorite. One of his quirks is extreme (and justified) vanity about his intellect. At some point Hastings, his rather stereotypical British sidekick, reproaches Poirot for his lack of modesty. Google Books let me find Poirot's response:
"Why should I play the hypocrite? ... Why should I turn red and stammer and mutter into my chin that I am really very stupid? It would not be true."
There. Have I set myself up enough now? :D
I admit it: I'm generally pretty pleased with my parenting skills. My greatest weakness is probably an almost overwhelming urge to laugh when Sebastian gets angry or upset. He's so cute when he gets upset! (And aren't you sick of hearing me talk about him?)
I also find it hard to resist teasing him sometimes. But that said, I can usually find the right thing to say or do to make things better.
Back to tonight: he was crying, almost hysterical, saying he didn't want to get older. I started telling him a story I remembered from The Foundling, a collection of short stories by Lloyd Alexander set in the Book of Three world of Prydain. I told it well; he got interested, laughed at some jokes, and forgot to cry. Finally I went over to a shelf and grabbed the book itself, so I could read the whole thing to him. He fell asleep about half-way through. I'll read the rest to him tomorrow.
It's not a perfect answer to the sadness of aging and death. But it's the best that I could come up with on the spur of the moment. Just in case, I'll throw in a cut for spoilers:
If you haven't read the story, it's about a man who gets a wish, and wishes for a magic stone that will stop him from ever getting older.
It works. But his crops don't grow either. His chickens can't hatch their eggs, and his cow can't deliver her calf. Nothing changes for him any more. Before long he realizes that the stone is a curse, not a blessing. After many difficulties he finally manages to get rid of it. His last line:
"Stones are all right, in their way. But the trouble with them is, they don't grow."
Tonight...tonight, I feel particularly good about being a father.
Tonight he cried, and told us he doesn't want to get older; he thinks the older you get, the less fun you have.
Okay, time for me to be immodest. Long ago I read a lot of Agatha Christie; Hercule Poirot was my favorite. One of his quirks is extreme (and justified) vanity about his intellect. At some point Hastings, his rather stereotypical British sidekick, reproaches Poirot for his lack of modesty. Google Books let me find Poirot's response:
"Why should I play the hypocrite? ... Why should I turn red and stammer and mutter into my chin that I am really very stupid? It would not be true."
There. Have I set myself up enough now? :D
I admit it: I'm generally pretty pleased with my parenting skills. My greatest weakness is probably an almost overwhelming urge to laugh when Sebastian gets angry or upset. He's so cute when he gets upset! (And aren't you sick of hearing me talk about him?)
I also find it hard to resist teasing him sometimes. But that said, I can usually find the right thing to say or do to make things better.
Back to tonight: he was crying, almost hysterical, saying he didn't want to get older. I started telling him a story I remembered from The Foundling, a collection of short stories by Lloyd Alexander set in the Book of Three world of Prydain. I told it well; he got interested, laughed at some jokes, and forgot to cry. Finally I went over to a shelf and grabbed the book itself, so I could read the whole thing to him. He fell asleep about half-way through. I'll read the rest to him tomorrow.
It's not a perfect answer to the sadness of aging and death. But it's the best that I could come up with on the spur of the moment. Just in case, I'll throw in a cut for spoilers:
If you haven't read the story, it's about a man who gets a wish, and wishes for a magic stone that will stop him from ever getting older.
It works. But his crops don't grow either. His chickens can't hatch their eggs, and his cow can't deliver her calf. Nothing changes for him any more. Before long he realizes that the stone is a curse, not a blessing. After many difficulties he finally manages to get rid of it. His last line:
"Stones are all right, in their way. But the trouble with them is, they don't grow."
Tonight...tonight, I feel particularly good about being a father.