interesting the fears of children. at 9 and 10 I read true war stories and true children’s stories with grisly ends. my mother said maybe I shouldn’t, but she didn’t check the books, and she wouldn’t let me read Steinbeck, too depressing she said [when I went away to college I read every Steinbeck I could, and they were depressing but so real].
I was protected as a young child from death, but given details or sordid crimes “to protect me”.
today I still have some fears, but I live with a husband and 6 big dogs who would probably run if someone came in, but run barking. I worried about my own children, but I didn’t want to pass my fears on to them.
now I try to ward off fears and worrying, my life entering its final phase. I wish we could live without fear, but it seems needlessly omnipresent.
nothing to compare with what children in the third world must suffer.
something I try to remember.