I call my kid a newsie.
While other 8-year-olds are watching The Cartoon Network or Nickelodeon, he is glued to The Weather Channel and CNN. I admit that this does give me a small sense of pride; I am a journalist, after all.
But when national tragedy strikes, it’s hard to explain why we’re changing the channel. And it’s even harder to help a child’s mind make sense of it all.
After Newtown, I read blog after blog about explaining the senselessness of a mass shooting to your child. Some suggested discussing the event freely. Others claimed parents should only talk about it if their child asked questions. My strategy was the latter -- I would be available if there was something my son wanted to talk about.
Interestingly, he didn’t really say anything. But he didn’t watch many newscasts for a while either. At the risk of sounding like I was trying to pretend Newtown didn’t happen, I became extremely vigilant about what he watched for weeks afterward.
When the Boston Marathon bombings occurred, my son was with his dad and I didn’t have the opportunity to monitor his TV viewing. But I talked to him over the phone and it was clear he had seen or heard news reports about the attacks.
“At first, the news said two people died, but now they’re saying three people died,” he said.
“I know,” I said. “And a lot of other people were very badly hurt.”
Then he said something that broke my heart.
“What I don’t understand is why, Mom.”
Forget the endless research and debates about disposable diapers versus cloth diapers, public or private school, organic or non-organic -- these are the moments when you have to trust your instincts to know the right thing to say and do for your child. Immediately.
“I don’t understand it either, kiddo,” I said. “Sometimes there are just really bad people who do really bad things. But you are safe. And I will always do everything I can to keep you safe.”
“I know,” he said.
And that was it.
I don’t know if our conversation had any impact on him whatsoever. Five seconds later we were talking about going to Seahawks training camp in August, which is four months away. This is how a child’s mind works.
As a kid, I remember exactly when I began questioning humanity. I was 11. A man walked into a McDonald’s in San Diego, shooting and killing 21 people and injuring 19 others. His rampage lasted 77 minutes. For a long time, I was terrified of entering a fast food restaurant.
But that was the moment. That was when I realized awful things happen for no reason. For my son, there have been two of those moments in the past four months, but I suspect Boston may be his moment. And I am crushed because he’s only eight. I don’t want his view of the world to be blemished so early.
So, as a mother, the only thing that I can do is to balance the bad with the good. I can comfort him in a way only a mother knows how. I can tell him I love him 20 times a day. I can reassure him that there are things in the world that make us happy and content and grateful to be alive. And while I’m doing that for him, he’s doing the same for me, just by his existence.
Thank you, son. You don’t know how much I appreciate it.
While other 8-year-olds are watching The Cartoon Network or Nickelodeon, he is glued to The Weather Channel and CNN. I admit that this does give me a small sense of pride; I am a journalist, after all.
But when national tragedy strikes, it’s hard to explain why we’re changing the channel. And it’s even harder to help a child’s mind make sense of it all.
After Newtown, I read blog after blog about explaining the senselessness of a mass shooting to your child. Some suggested discussing the event freely. Others claimed parents should only talk about it if their child asked questions. My strategy was the latter -- I would be available if there was something my son wanted to talk about.
Interestingly, he didn’t really say anything. But he didn’t watch many newscasts for a while either. At the risk of sounding like I was trying to pretend Newtown didn’t happen, I became extremely vigilant about what he watched for weeks afterward.
When the Boston Marathon bombings occurred, my son was with his dad and I didn’t have the opportunity to monitor his TV viewing. But I talked to him over the phone and it was clear he had seen or heard news reports about the attacks.
“At first, the news said two people died, but now they’re saying three people died,” he said.
“I know,” I said. “And a lot of other people were very badly hurt.”
Then he said something that broke my heart.
“What I don’t understand is why, Mom.”
Forget the endless research and debates about disposable diapers versus cloth diapers, public or private school, organic or non-organic -- these are the moments when you have to trust your instincts to know the right thing to say and do for your child. Immediately.
“I don’t understand it either, kiddo,” I said. “Sometimes there are just really bad people who do really bad things. But you are safe. And I will always do everything I can to keep you safe.”
“I know,” he said.
And that was it.
I don’t know if our conversation had any impact on him whatsoever. Five seconds later we were talking about going to Seahawks training camp in August, which is four months away. This is how a child’s mind works.
As a kid, I remember exactly when I began questioning humanity. I was 11. A man walked into a McDonald’s in San Diego, shooting and killing 21 people and injuring 19 others. His rampage lasted 77 minutes. For a long time, I was terrified of entering a fast food restaurant.
But that was the moment. That was when I realized awful things happen for no reason. For my son, there have been two of those moments in the past four months, but I suspect Boston may be his moment. And I am crushed because he’s only eight. I don’t want his view of the world to be blemished so early.
So, as a mother, the only thing that I can do is to balance the bad with the good. I can comfort him in a way only a mother knows how. I can tell him I love him 20 times a day. I can reassure him that there are things in the world that make us happy and content and grateful to be alive. And while I’m doing that for him, he’s doing the same for me, just by his existence.
Thank you, son. You don’t know how much I appreciate it.