Until I pulled into our driveway, upon which he climbed out of the car, took one look at me, and burst into tears. "This is too scary," he moaned as he smashed his face into my thighs, embarrassed by his reaction but far too overwhelmed to keep it inside a moment longer.
Since then he's insisted on an escort to and from the bathroom, is quick to startle, and has spent a lot of time on my lap. He's reluctant to venture away from the house or his immediate family. He hasn't said a word about vampires, and I doubt it's even about vampires anymore - he's just left with a lingering sense of fear.
The most restorative activity that seems to heal this perceived tear in his usually safe and loving world is sharing stories. More, more and more stories. Over this lovely relaxing weekend, Mike's parents visited. We had more downtime than usual, and so I spent a good portion of it in the backyard on a blanket, reading from Isaac Bashevis Singer's Stories for Children.
The stories in this collection are intense, strange (or at least I should think they would be to Gabriel) - about the supernatural, God, death, justice, nature, art, family, and come to think of it, everything that really matters in this life, usually played out with a cast of characters that includes good and bad Jewish spirits that haunt the streets of Polish shtetls. I love reading them with Gabriel. They are rather long and yet he sits motionless through them, barely breathing, and when we finish one (often with tears in my eyes, feeling emotionally exhausted) he pauses for a bit, then turns to me and asks for another.
This is the antidote to ridiculous faux vampire nonfiction (and lots of other nonsense kids encounter out in the world). These stories are about the truth, and children are so good at recognizing the truth! We read a story about Naftali the storyteller, his beloved horse Sus, and their long journey together. We read another about a poor orphan boy named Menaseh who falls asleep in the woods and dreams of a beautiful castle where he finds his parents and grandparents waiting for him. Though they show him its wonders, they quickly send him back to the living world, where he wakes to meet a new friend. The story ends after the two leave, when "among the undergrowth and wild mushrooms, little people in red jackets, gold caps, and green boots emerged. They danced in a circle and sang a song which is heard only by those who know that everything lives and nothing in time is ever lost."
At the end of the collection, in an epilogue titled Are Children the Ultimate Literary Critics?, Singer writes,
No matter how young they are, children are deeply concerned with so-called eternal questions. Who created the world? Who made the earth, the sky, people, animals? Children cannot imagine the beginning or end of time and space. ... Children think about and ponder such matters as justice, the purpose of life, the why of suffering. They often find it difficult to make peace with the idea that animals are slaughtered so that man can eat them. They are bewildered and frightened by death. They cannot accept the fact that the strong should rule the weak.
The child is often a philosopher and a seeker of God. ... If I had my way, I would publish a history of philosophy for children, where I would convey the basic ideas of all philosophers in simple language. Children, who are highly serious people, would read this book with great interest. In our time, when literature for adults is deteriorating, good books for children are the only hope, the only refuge. Many adults read and enjoy children's books. We write not only for children but also for their parents. They, too, are serious children.
From one serious child to another: may the week ahead be safe, happy, and healthy for you and for your dear ones, filled with good stories that satisfy the seeker and philosopher in all of us.
2 comments:
Your posts about books are my favorites! I always want to go read whatever it is immediately.
Thank you! Tell me, what are you reading in your house?
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