I was on the phone with my sister this morning [Footnote: The other day my son, Mr. B, asked me if Ted was my sister. I said, "Yes, yes he is." However, don't be confused, this morning I was on the phone with my other sister, Ms. L]. I heard my kids arguing in the next room, and my youngest started to cry. She ran into the room, sobbing, and she said, "Mr. B says that Darth Vader is going to cut me in half with his light saber."
I told her that Darth Vader is not real, and light sabers are not real, [Footnote: Actually, someone, somewhere, has probably developed a light saber, and nylons that don't run, and alcohol that gets you drunk without a hangover, but we commoners will never see them.] and even if they were real, Darth Vader would not be attacking my Bean, because she is not under the auspices of the Empire, and as far as I know, has not joined the Resistance. Also, Bean really likes to get along with people, and is pretty understanding, so I think that she might have a shot at turning Darth Vader away from the Dark Side. Certainly a better shot than that puling, whiny wuss Luke Skywalker had.
Discussions about what is "real" get very heated around here. Total Package tells our kids that everything he likes, for example, E.T., Raiders of the Lost Ark (excluding the last movie, which was a train wreck), the Fonz, Star Wars, etc. are real. I think it's important for my kids to know that a Southeast Asian man cannot use magic and chanting to rip their hearts from their chests, so I am a little less whimsical. I think that this is an especially important lesson, given that their pediatrician is from India.
I try to be clear without being repressive. I was driving through the countryside, coming home from my weekly trek to pick up vegetables from the CSA, when I had to try and explain a similar misunderstanding to my nephew, Mr. Pants.
Me: Look, boys, there's a pony!
Pants: Is it a pony or a horse?
Me: I can't tell by looking, it could be a pony or a horse, but it's pretty small, so I bet it's a pony.
Pants: Too bad it doesn't have a horn. We should get a pony with a horn. Did your pony have a horn?
Me: Those are called unicorns, and they're not real. They're imaginary.
Pants: But I've seen them on T.V.
Me: They are beautiful, but they are imaginary.
Pants: What about the pony with a horn on My Pretty Ponies?
Me: Those ponies are pretend - they are pink and purple and blue. Real ponies are black and brown and white and don't have horns.
Pants: Cows have horns.
Me: Yes, but not just one horn on their forehead, and ponies and horses don't have horns, like unicorns. It would be fun, but it's just in our imaginations.
Pants: I'd going to get a unicorn.
Mr. B: We should both get unicorns.
Me: Sounds good. Please get me one, too. I'd like a pink one.
You see how these conversations run. I answer their questions, but tell them they can believe whatever they want in the end. After all, you can't push Santa Claus on one hand, but turn your nose up at unicorns. People certainly believe in things that are much harder to swallow than unicorns, like frozen yoghurt, for instance.
I do draw the line at scary stuff. TP said that the fairies must have done something this morning, and Bean scoffed and said there was no such thing as fairies. A few moments later, when my oldest, Thorn, was describing a trip to a cemetery, Bean told her to be careful in cemetaries, because that's where zombies come from. I told her in no uncertain terms that there were no zombies. Later in the day, she ascertained that it is impossible to prove a negative ("But Mom, you can't know EVERYTHING, so you don't know for sure."). I therefore took a different tack. I told her I was really old, and all her grandparents and great-grandmother and aunts and uncles were really old, and none of us had ever seen or heard of a real zombie, so she didn't have to worry about them. That impressed her, mostly because she can't quite believe how old we all are. She was also talking about going to a cemetery with my mother-in-law to visit TP's grandmother's grave. I'm not sure if that is because she is now certain there are no zombies (which I am very confident about, honestly) or if she is just double-checking my work.
Back to this morning, while I was on the phone with my actual sister, simultaneously convincing Bean that as a non-rebel, she was safe from Empire reprisals, Ms. L was trying to calm down her kids. Her three-year-old, Cookie, had swallowed a penny, which his more cautious siblings feared was an instant death sentence. They were all screaming, "He swallowed it! It was a penny! It could have been a dime! He swallowed it!" Baby C was loading up the car for a trip to the hospital. Mr. Pants was trying to argue that Cookie probably had never actually swallowed anything, he just said he did, so he'd be OK. I think I am more likely to see Cookie eat a penny than to ride a unicorn, so I have to disagree with Mr. Pants on this one. Unfortunately for Ms. L, I think hunting for unicorns would be a lot more fun than hunting for pennies will be.
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