Speaking truth to children
26/09/14 04:35
I have heard various versions of this story told over the years and although it didn’t happen to me, it seems like the core of the story might have some basis in truth:
The father takes his toddler to visit the mother and the new baby in the hospital. First they go in to visit the mother and the toddler is relieved to see that she is doing fine. Then a nurse brings in the new baby and they all have a good time looking at the little one. The toddler likes the new baby and is pretty amazed at how small the fingers and toes and all of the facial parts are. Later, in the car as the dad and the toddler are driving home, the toddler asks, “Dad, Where do babies come from.” The father pauses, and the takes a deep breath, and he blushes a little bit and then he tries to give a straight answer in his own bumbling way: “You see, when a man and a woman love each other very much. . . well, I guess I need to make sure that you understand that girls are different from boys. You know that you have . . .” A rather detailed, if incomplete description of male and female body parts follows. Then there is the reminder about loving one another very much and a sort of simplified description of sexual intercourse.
After the father finishes, a bit flustered and still very much embarrassed, the toddler says, “No, I mean when the nurse brought the baby into the room, where did she come from? Where was the baby before it was brought into Momma’s room?
With children, parents learn, sooner or later, that it is important not to give too much information and to listen carefully and then make inquiry so that they really know what the question is before it is answered. What is the real question that requires an answer and what answer will satisfy the question the child is posing.
I was thinking about this very intently yesterday as I spent the morning at an elementary school. I was there to work with and support teachers and administrators as they gave their best in support of the children, especially the members of a kindergarten class, whose teacher had died. We’re only five weeks into the school year, but kindergarteners form bonds with their teachers quickly. And the death was sudden and unexpected. The school has a good plan in place and good people to engage a combination of other teachers, administrators and parents to provide extra support and care for the children.
But yuou want to think carefully before delivering that kind of news to children. And you want to think completely when you are preparing to answer their questions. Children have a right to look to the school and the adults in a school as a source of truth. We want to make sure that they get the information they need from people that they can trust. We know there will be plenty of rumors spreading around the community. Children need to be able to torn to parents and to school officials to get answers to their questions and to see those as sources of truth.
“How did she die?” is the question that the teachers were dreading the most.
We knew more graphic details about the death than we wanted to share with anyone. The coroner had pictures that would give a grown person nightmares and should never be shown to a child. How much information is enough information? We decided to invite the teachers to simply offer “She quit breathing,” as the first response. Then, if pressed by a child, they could elaborate further that she had a kind of sickness from which she couldn’t get well.
By lunchtime, no teacher reported that they had been questioned farther than “She quit breathing.” That answer was sufficient for kindergartners.
Of course the questions won’t end in one day. The questions the teachers are asking themselves are tougher than the ones the kids will ask. They are wondering if there is more they could have done to help the teacher who died. They are wondering if there was some sign or signal that they missed in their conversations. They are grieving and the process of grief can be painfully slow. And in the midst of that they need to be teachers and be present for the children.
Our children, however, are more resilient than we sometimes give them credit for being. They see and understand more of adult life than we would like to think. The images that bombard them from popular media are filled with incredible violence and graphic depictions that probably exceed the realities of everyday life in South Dakota. In a school like the one where I was working yesterday, there are hundreds of children who have experienced the divorce of parents and the reconfiguration of families. There are many who have had some experience with death: a grandparent, a family friend, a pet. Even though they are only five years old, they already know something of the realities of life and death and loss and grief.
I don’t ever want to discount the realities of the experiences of children. Still, I hesitate to offer too many details. I don’t want to frighten them. I don’t want them to somehow think that their world is fragile and untrustworthy. I don’t want to promise them things that aren’t within my power to deliver. I want to be honest and open and yet the urge to protect these little ones from the world is very real. My prayer is that they will be allowed a few more years of innocence in which to grow up and explore the world.
There are, however, times when the events of life demand that we give our children the best resources that we are able to offer. Yesterday was one of those days. There are more yet to come.
The father takes his toddler to visit the mother and the new baby in the hospital. First they go in to visit the mother and the toddler is relieved to see that she is doing fine. Then a nurse brings in the new baby and they all have a good time looking at the little one. The toddler likes the new baby and is pretty amazed at how small the fingers and toes and all of the facial parts are. Later, in the car as the dad and the toddler are driving home, the toddler asks, “Dad, Where do babies come from.” The father pauses, and the takes a deep breath, and he blushes a little bit and then he tries to give a straight answer in his own bumbling way: “You see, when a man and a woman love each other very much. . . well, I guess I need to make sure that you understand that girls are different from boys. You know that you have . . .” A rather detailed, if incomplete description of male and female body parts follows. Then there is the reminder about loving one another very much and a sort of simplified description of sexual intercourse.
After the father finishes, a bit flustered and still very much embarrassed, the toddler says, “No, I mean when the nurse brought the baby into the room, where did she come from? Where was the baby before it was brought into Momma’s room?
With children, parents learn, sooner or later, that it is important not to give too much information and to listen carefully and then make inquiry so that they really know what the question is before it is answered. What is the real question that requires an answer and what answer will satisfy the question the child is posing.
I was thinking about this very intently yesterday as I spent the morning at an elementary school. I was there to work with and support teachers and administrators as they gave their best in support of the children, especially the members of a kindergarten class, whose teacher had died. We’re only five weeks into the school year, but kindergarteners form bonds with their teachers quickly. And the death was sudden and unexpected. The school has a good plan in place and good people to engage a combination of other teachers, administrators and parents to provide extra support and care for the children.
But yuou want to think carefully before delivering that kind of news to children. And you want to think completely when you are preparing to answer their questions. Children have a right to look to the school and the adults in a school as a source of truth. We want to make sure that they get the information they need from people that they can trust. We know there will be plenty of rumors spreading around the community. Children need to be able to torn to parents and to school officials to get answers to their questions and to see those as sources of truth.
“How did she die?” is the question that the teachers were dreading the most.
We knew more graphic details about the death than we wanted to share with anyone. The coroner had pictures that would give a grown person nightmares and should never be shown to a child. How much information is enough information? We decided to invite the teachers to simply offer “She quit breathing,” as the first response. Then, if pressed by a child, they could elaborate further that she had a kind of sickness from which she couldn’t get well.
By lunchtime, no teacher reported that they had been questioned farther than “She quit breathing.” That answer was sufficient for kindergartners.
Of course the questions won’t end in one day. The questions the teachers are asking themselves are tougher than the ones the kids will ask. They are wondering if there is more they could have done to help the teacher who died. They are wondering if there was some sign or signal that they missed in their conversations. They are grieving and the process of grief can be painfully slow. And in the midst of that they need to be teachers and be present for the children.
Our children, however, are more resilient than we sometimes give them credit for being. They see and understand more of adult life than we would like to think. The images that bombard them from popular media are filled with incredible violence and graphic depictions that probably exceed the realities of everyday life in South Dakota. In a school like the one where I was working yesterday, there are hundreds of children who have experienced the divorce of parents and the reconfiguration of families. There are many who have had some experience with death: a grandparent, a family friend, a pet. Even though they are only five years old, they already know something of the realities of life and death and loss and grief.
I don’t ever want to discount the realities of the experiences of children. Still, I hesitate to offer too many details. I don’t want to frighten them. I don’t want them to somehow think that their world is fragile and untrustworthy. I don’t want to promise them things that aren’t within my power to deliver. I want to be honest and open and yet the urge to protect these little ones from the world is very real. My prayer is that they will be allowed a few more years of innocence in which to grow up and explore the world.
There are, however, times when the events of life demand that we give our children the best resources that we are able to offer. Yesterday was one of those days. There are more yet to come.