Things They Say
The world through children’s eyes
Have you noticed how astounding things little people say? The quite large collection of family nonfiction pieces I’ve written so far display how hilarious kids can be for us adults. The best thing about them is that most of the time kiddos make us guffaw completely unintentionally, sort of “by the way” or by coincidence. The humor often springs from the contrast between our knowledge and experience of the world, which with time become somewhat dull and predictable, and their fresh look at the reality around us, often characterized by naivety, innocence and beauty. Yes, that’s so very true, kids often make you laugh when they open their mouths.
Sometimes they utter a line you’ve already heard and you realize you said it once yourself, which wasn’t the best idea at all. Kids are like sponges, they don’t forget, they hear, register words and ideas, store them just to surprise you at the most inopportune moment. Well, you surely have to be careful about what you say in their company as your own words can be used against you pretty soon or long after you forget you’ve ever uttered them.
At times it also happens that a thought presented by a kid discloses a path to your own childhood, to the self of the child you used to be and that can be a truly magical experience. Things little monsters say may, to your bewilderment, prove how attentive they are. Definitely, they pay attention not only to the things you say, but what you omit to mention, to the meanings hidden in- between the strings of words, to the little pauses you make, to the tremble in your voice, to the half-gestures and half-words you don’t even know were said aloud.
This school year my little son Timmy has commenced a big adventure with religion classes. Therefore he’s keen on discussing the topics of angels, devils, heaven, hell. Probably the images and numerous questions evoked by them exert a powerful impact on children’s imagination. Thus, this Sunday, when I doubled and tripled among pots and pans with potatoes, meat balls and the like preparing dinner, Timmy says unexpectedly with dreamy eyes,
“Mum, do you know what? When you die and go to heaven, you should come up to God straight off and ask him if you could stand right next to your mum. You two will be chatting while drinking coffee…”
His remark totally knocked me down.
I must confess I don’t talk much about my childhood with my kids. I simply don’t like it. Despite the fact that many really nice, charming, funny things happened at that time, those bad moments cast a heavy shadow over all else making it highly unpleasant for me to go back there. Suffice it to say, the death of my beloved mother still remains a fact I haven’t managed to come to terms with, so reminiscing about her still tears me apart inside, and I don’t want my children to witness any external signs of that. What for? So I avoid talking about her altogether. I don’t like mentioning my father either, for different reasons. Whenever I do speak of my parents it’s invariably in the form of half sentences or even single words.
Yet, it turns out that my son does somehow feel the profound significance of my mother to me. He instinctively chose her, not my father, as my companion in the afterlife, as the one person I’d surely crave to run to and chat with as soon as possible after the clock strikes my hour. I wonder how does he know? How do they, little people, know such things?
My kid’s remark also revealed the image of heaven I once had. I suddenly recalled the way I’d perceived it as a child. With time, we adults acquire more abstract comprehension of heaven and hell. No matter if we manage to keep faith in God or if we lose it along the way, we all develop a metaphorical idea of those places. My son’s words showed me what it felt like to be a child again, and it felt awesome! They reminded me of this more literal vision of heaven — a place blue all around with clouds scattered here and there, lots of space and nothing apart from the space — no chairs, no tables. That’s why Timmy mentioned ‘standing’, his first impulse told him there was no furniture in heaven at all. Later he brought up coffee because he knows how much his mummy loves it, but even then, when cups and a jug entered his vision, he still didn’t conjure up a table (I asked him about that!), no, he assumed that in heaven everything was possible and concrete objects could magically just hang suspended in the air.
I loved his reflection so much because it allowed me to see the world through the eyes of a child, but most of all I loved it as I realized that there is a small human so close to me both physically and emotionally who at some magical, mystical, subconscious, instinctive level deeply understands the core of me I so unwillingly disclose to the external world.
©2020 Marta Mozolewska. All rights reserved.
If you liked the piece above, you may also enjoy the following:
