Fireworks!
Two nights ago, there was a distant sound of fireworks outside the house. Pete scooped Bernard up and leapt through the door in great excitement, only to find that the two-year-old was less than thrilled. He scooped him back down into the sitting room, and he turned into a big-eyed clingy lump of jelly, cowering beside my legs while I finished the washing up.
I sat down with him and explained what fireworks were, and we practised shouting BANG! which he found rather fun. We talked about what colours they were, and I said that when he goes to school, they’ll tell him the story of Guy Fawkes, and then he can come home and we can talk about why history is usually distorted by power. But still he clung.
We put to bed an unusually subdued and solemn child, whose mama-has-left-the-room sensor was more sensitive than normal (it wakes him up when I think I can sneak out). In the morning, we showed him pictures and videos of fireworks on the internet.
The next night, it became clear that Bernard blames Pete for the trauma. Daddy det! he insisted, over and over again. Daddy det fireworks! I found this conversation a little upsetting, until I figured out that he was saying get, not dead. Bang BANG! Daddy det red green fireworks! he continued.
This evening before dinner, we wrote a story about a boy who heard some fireworks outside, and Bernard illustrated it.
Karen · October 29, 2008 · Comments off · blogging
