How to Deal with 'Dead'

Not a book review post, but this one is commons situation with all parents.

How do you broach taboo subjects with children? Those ideas and concepts that adults have more or less embraced as part real life, such as death. Actually, I wouldn't want to call them 'taboo' necessarily, they are a real and are not something that should provoke any anxiety. Nor is it like John Huston's character in "Chinatown", Hollis Mulwray, who covers over his granddaughter's eyes at the end, shielding her from the sight of her mother's brains being splattered over the car like some religious zealot, a granddaughter (spoiler if you haven't seen the movie) that he fathered with his daughter. I mean, not serious hypocrisy.

No, I mean explaining the concept of 'dead' to a toddler. A dead animal by the side of road. Explaining why my grandparents are no longer around. Explaining what happened to Cinderella's parents when you read the story or watch the Disney movie. In fact, pick any Disney movie. One or more of the parents of the main characters is often dead.

It is of a particular sticking point with my wife and I because we are both vegetarians and have raised our children to be, too. My daughter sees kids in her school eating, say, chicken nuggets, and doesn't seem to grasp that it is indeed a chicken that once had feathers, pooped and hopped around a coop. The day will come when we have to explain to her why we're vegetarians and the answer we give will invariably involve the words 'kill' or 'dead.' "We don't eat dead animals, honey," it will start, and she will likely then cry because she realizes that her friends are eating a cute little pig rather than sweet and sour pork.

My four year-old daughter doesn't grasp 'dead' because she doesn't understand the idea of permanence, or rather that something can change and be that way permanently. She does understand a basic dichotomy; for example, she can distinguish between what she calls 'regular' and 'toy', the stuff that's real and the stuff that's make-believe. You would think that she would then understand the distinction between 'living' and 'dead', since that follows the same logical distinction as real and make-believe, but she still doesn't understand 'dead' because she still thinks that something that goes away permamently will eventually come back, or be magically restored.

I've explained dead in the Cinderella story by saying that her parents went away and will never come back. In a child's mind, that still leaves the possibility that her parents will come back, since they exist out there, somewhere. If Cinderella's father came back, he would've looked at her stepmother and thought, "why did I marry such a horrible woman?" Then he would've left town, Cinderella never would've gone to the bal, and generations of young girls would've been left without the unrealistic wish fulfillment of marrying a prince, and men wouldn't have had to suffer the comparison.

Some parents will act like Hollis Mulwray and hypocritically shield their kids from ideas such as death, or worse, explanations of where babies come from. Some parents would rather be cruel when explaining death, saying that someone such as a child's pet bunny left and wasn't coming back by suggesting that it doesn't want to.

Me, I will treat the subject in the way I've always spoken to my kids. Using honesty. I will be honest and consistent with my explanation of where Cinderella's parents are until the day comes when the lightbulb comes on in my daughters head. That or I'll elaborate by saying that Cinderella's parents hate her so that's why they're not coming back. And top it off by explaining that the prince likes men.

What I am reading to my kids, part 4

The Missing Piece
by Shel Silverstein

I bought this book for my daughter for her 2nd birthday, and she is now 4, so this book has made a regular appearance at night time readings for two years now. It came a little late in my own childhood for my enjoyment. Silverstein's The Giving Tree was one of my favorite books as a child, but I am going to wait to unleash such a sad childrens' book until she is a little older. Anyway, as I have read this book over the two years my daughter has taken certain parts of it and always makes the same comment at whatever point that is. The comment she makes keeps changing, but the book seems to give her a lot to chew on. It's nice to think that in an age where every form of media is available for immediate consumption, whether it be movies, TV, and music; media that goes into sensual overdrive in order to get little eyes and ears to pay attention to it, that a book that is simple black and white line drawings suggests so much to a young mind.

The first line of the book, where a circle with a mouth cut out of it (sort of pre-pacman) is noted that it was "missing a piece. And it was not happy." suggests that this has been a condition for the circle for a long time. it didn't decide that it was missing a piece on day, as part of the plot. Also, interestingly for childrens' books, the circle is referred to as "it". Most books have a character with a specific gender with the stories geared toward that gender and the characters performing specific gender roles. The circle then sets out on his day, looking for a missing triangular piece that will fit in his mouth. The first one he comes upon rejects him. The next four don't complement him for some reason, begin too big, small, the wrong shape, etc. Finally he comes upon a triangle that fit and accepts him. The circle then realizes, however, that he can't be who he is with it, so he let's it down and goes back to singing about missing a piece.

The story really has 4 interpretations:

1. That one must have another person to complement the other, a companion or friend, rather than accepting that it's also fun to be alone. The addition of the piece makes the circle realize that he can't do the really fun things when he is 'complete.'

2. That someone must have something to possess to be complete. Perhaps Silverstein's comment on consumer society. I don't think kids would ever get that. Maybe that just a message for the adults.

3. That it addresses possible psychological anxiety about a missing sex organ, or presence of one, thus the lack of gender in the circle character. Silverstein may have done this subconsciously, don't you think?

4. This one is really for the adults - at the end of the story, after he gets rid of the piece that fit, he goes right back to being unhappy about missing a piece. This is an unconventional resolution in the world of happy endings. The Hollywood version would have the circle having a realization and saying, "Hey! I really would be happy without the piece," and going on to be Deepak Chopra. But no, he goes right back to anxiously feeling that he's missing a piece. In other words, some people would rather be unhappy than to deal with the compromises that having a companion might have, and further, that some people relish being miserable than to take the risk of being happy.

So my daughter always reacts in these parts. (I'll use letters for this list. Don't want you to think I'm writing for the American Film Institute and getting obsessed with numbered and ranked lists):

a. At the part where Silverstein outlines what the circle likes to do, he says it likes to "smell a flower," to which my daughter replies, "Just like me!"

b. When one of the pieces that doesn't fit breaks, my daughter gets distressed. When the circle goes on an adventure and gets an arrow in his mouth, she thinks that it's the broken piece, since that's the last one that doesn't fit in the story. She says, "It's fixed."

c. She always looks at me when I sing the circle's song about finding the missing piece with the piece in his mouth, because I imitate what that would sound like. It's a cross between Marlon Brando in the Godfather mumbling, and a thirteen year-old with a mouth full of too big braces.

What I am reading to my kids, part 3

The Sneetches and Other Stories
by Dr. Seuss

Theodore Geisel is part of the triumvirate of American childrens' book writers, along with the Reys (Curious George) and perhaps Shel Silverstein, though each are unique in their own ways. Geisel is probably the most successful, and has been endlessly parodied, imitated and his books adapted into horrifying Hollywood movies starring Mike Myers or Jim Carrey.

In the 50s, with books like "Cat in the Hat" and "Green Eggs and Ham", he established his style of colorful poetry and appealing whimsy and anarchism that have kept kids enthralled with his books. Sneetches is the first book of his I remember reading, and it marks his first entry into "social" books with a "message". It's still an entertaining book, but to make my point: last year, the United Nations, in an attempt to foster racial tolerance, dropped hundreds of thousands of copies of Sneetches into Bosnia and Serbia. A childrens' book to stop centuries of cultural hatred. Yeah, right.

I can't imagine what the book would sound like in Serbian, but in English the language Dr. Seuss puts forth is a little macabre and even racy. The title story concerns the sneetches, creatures who live at a beach barren of rocks, trees and pooping albatrosses. Some of them have stars on their bellies, and some don't, and the former regard the latter with the same attitude the royals would to their subjects and don't associate with them. So a scam artist comes along and offers to put those who lack stars through some contraption that will place stars on their bellies, then offers the ones with to take theirs off when they realize it doesn't make them unique any longer. It's sort of like France after the revolution; the royals find out that they are going to be treated the same in a democracy as the ugly people they used to step on. Inevitably the stars go on and off as each group realizes it isn't going to make them unique. The macabre part is that these stars have to be a permanent part of their bodies, so how does it get ripped off? We don't see what happens inside the machine, but I imagine the sneetches howling in pain as they go through it, having a part of their body sanded, or burned or frozen off, then reattached. Sort of like a chemical peel. In the end, weary from the torture and their wallets emptied from paying for the procedure over and over, they are resigned to accept that there really is no difference between them and live happily ever after. At least until a Nazi style dictator comes along and convinces them to believe in the 'star-belly purity.'

The second story, "The Zax", is about the consequences of stubborness. The north-going Zax and the south-going Zax are going north and south respectively, and come to a point where they meet in the middle of the desert and neither wants to give way to the other. It is a hilarious story about the absurd lengths people will go in being stubborn, but I'm not sure kids would get that. In the end, the world just develops around them and their rigidity as a highway is built over them at the "Zax by-pass". But those consequences aren't really that grave. A kid might think that if they behave that way, people will pay enough attention to them that the world will avoid them and accommodate them at the same time, as kids are narcisstic by nature. The message really requires a further leap of logic that adults (well, MOST adults) make: that it's absurd for anyone to make this accommodation because it affects everyone else negatively.

The third story in the bunch is "Too Many Daves", a funny story about a mother weary from birthing twenty-three children who, as a result, can't think of unique names for her children so she names them all Dave. I'm sure if she had any girls she would have named them all Jennifer. In hindsight, she muses how much easier it would be if she had given all the boys unique names, then comes up with typical Dr. Seuss wordplay for those supposed names. A couple of names push the boundaries a little. First is "Oliver Boliver Butt". I don't know how common it was in 1960 to have to word butt in a childrens' book, but there it is. Every time I read the word, my daughter always says, "Ewwww. You said butt." What do you want? She's almost four. The other slightly suggestive one is "Paris Garters". Garters always makes me think of a woman in lingerie, but what it makes my daughter think I can only guess, since the last woman to wear a garter was her great grandmother. Or the cross-dresser we saw at the mall. I chuckle when I think which poor boy is going to get the name Paris. I know that one of the main characters in the Iliad is named Paris, but he was probably the most effete straight man in the history of literature. I'm sure Helen used to toss grapes at him. Finally, the most questionable hypothetical name was "Soggy Muff." I'll leave it at that, but I'm sure Mr. Geisel knew what the word muff meant. To adults anyway.

Finally, there is "What Was I Afraid Of", about a dog-like creature afraid of a floating pair of green pants with "nobody inside them" that keep stalking him. I understand the message of the story, that you shouldn't be afraid of things you don't understand, but when I was kid this story scared the bejesus out of me. First of all the way the setting are drawn it looks like a cross between the countryside where the headless horseman prowled and the home planet in "Alien." One would be scared of anything that came out of those places.

I don't mind that Seuss is trying to impart a message to children by giving them a situation or a character they can identify with, but I wonder whether kids identify not because they feel scared, but because they feel they should empathize with it. I've read another book called "Frog is Frightened" to my daughter, and after a few times reading it she requested a nightlight in her room. The book is about how a frog character is afraid of noises in the dark, so he goes to see his friends and they too get scared of the dark after telling him that it's silly that he is in the first place. Likely my daughter felt that she should be scared of the dark because these characters are, and developed the fear even though she never had been before. This happens a lot in children's books where authors of them try to create characters kids can identify with by mirroring their fears or behavior, but kids often end up copying it instead. I too remember being scared of the Seuss story even though in the end the dog-thing and the pants end up being friends. The fear is what is tantamount to any child, or adult for that matter.

What I am reading to my kids, part 2

Brown Bear, Brown Bear, What Do You See?
by Bill Martin, Jr.
Illustrations by Eric Carle

I have a great deal of fondness for Bill Martin's books. He didn't write many of them, and many parents probably find them repetitive and simplistic, even for toddler books. I find them deceptively simple. Each page is a repetition of the same two sentences, a question and then the answer, each involved a different animal in succession: "Brown bear, brown bear, what do yo see? I see a red bird looking at me." Then, "Red bird, red bird, what do you see? I see a..." and so on.

What makes it so deceptive, or to use a better word, mysterious, is that you don't really know what you're seeing at first as you read the book. The animals seem to be inhabiting different spaces, but then by the end they seem to be inhabiting the same space and are all connected by in a mysterious way that's revealed at the end. This sense is heightened by Carle's illustrations, the visual sibling to Martin's writing - simple, flat, unnaturally colorful, and always with a white background that places the animal that's being shown in a ethereal space. In some ways, Brown Bear is a toddler version of a mystery novel, because at it's most elemental, an adult version is discovering how all of the characters in the book fit together. That is probably what draws kids to it, and why it has done so for so many years.

The book was Martin's first, published in 1960, and he wrote it at the age of 44 after a career as an educator in Texas. The book was also Carle's first, asked to illustrate it by Martin after his career as a magazine artist.

What's the big mystery? As you get to the middle of the book, with the blue horse and the purple cat, you realize that these aren't real animals, and by the end it's revealed that they are children's drawings gathered together in a classroom. The educational part, beyond the teaching of language through repetition, is that the simple story grounded in the real world. There are many kids picture books these days that are without any sense of meaning that is significant to kids. They fall into two camps. The first are superficial stories, i.e. the bunny did this and the bunny did that without any sense of narrative. Others books of labelling stock photographs that are the equivalent of disjointed imagery of television, just naming and identifying without any emotional investment into what the pictures are really depicting. Brown Bear requires kids to think and put together the animals significance, rather than just having them there as a pretty picture.

My son is only one year old, and can't grasp this at this point, but it is one of his favorite books. Someday he will grasp the Brown Bear mystery, and I hope it will continue to be one of his favorite books until he outgrows it. For now, he likes to look at those mysterious pictures of blue horses and purple cats. My daughter loved the book as well, and at the end of the book, where all the animals are together on the same page, we would play a game of find and point to each animal.

The only problem is that we have the board book version, and for some reason the publisher saw fit to change the ending. The teacher at the end of the original version was definitely a man, but in the board book version, they turned him into a hermaphrodite. Or a cross-dresser, I can't tell which. The publisher thought it would be less controversial to not have the teacher fit a gender role is my guess. Why do we feel the need to not offend anyone - in a children's book, for Christ's sake! Who cares if the teacher isn't strictly defined as a man, just in case the child's actual teacher is a woman and so the kid won't get confused? If you don't want to cause controversy, stick with the stock photo books.

What I am reading to my kids, part 1

Title: The Berenstain Bears Get Their Kicks
by Stan and Jan Berenstain

This is one of a series of, I don't know, 5 million different Berenstain Bear books and I have to say I'm pretty indifferent to reading them. My wife hates them, she thinks they're very preachy, and I can see her point. Some of the books in the series are literally preachy, since they cover the topics of religion and God, but this one has a topic many people are religious about - soccer. Yes, a boring book about the world's most boring sport, soccer. Playing soccer is indeed more fun than watching it (unless there's a hooligan riot) but much of playing soccer is the equivalent of watching it. When you play it as a kid, and you get the passed the ball, you get determined to make a goal. You push and push that ball down the field, and kick it toward the goal and ... the goalie catches it. Then you repeat. And repeat. You get a lot of running in, so it is a good cardiovascular workout. I often see Latin American guys at the park playing soccer...excuse me, futbol...and it seems like the most fun they're having is in taunting and cursing each other while running around. You could well do that while hanging out on the corner, but it doesn't make much for an organized sport.

The plot of the book involves the "traditional" woodsbear Papa, who loves American sports like baseball and basketball, being incensed that his kids would like a sport like soccer. Eventually, when he sees that they've developed a level of skill at it, he starts to appreciate the sport and gives his kids the acceptance they crave. In other words, if he thought they sucked at it, he wouldn't be so approving of it. Nothing is more frustrating than having talentless children. If they had not been good at soccer, and not made their pee-wee teams, then Papa would have felt OK about forcing them to play baseball.

The Berenstain Bears series' biggest crime is that they are written like a car care manual. The illustrations are cute (yes, that is the best word to describe it) but don't seem to be 'illustrating' much because the books are so damn talky. This particular book is late in the series that they started publishing in the 1970s and this is from about ten years ago. You sense that there's a template the Berenstains are following, and there isn't much flair or creativity in their use of language. In the book's defense, they are designed for young readers so their language has to be simple. But does it have to be so joyless? Consider word choices like this; in one scene, Papa expresses his disdain in this sentence - "'Humph,' humphed Papa." Who writes like that? How about "Humph, snorted Papa" or even "Papa thought it silly." Something along those lines. Another example; when Papa sees the field where the soccer tryouts are being held, it's described as having kids kicking the soccer balls around with coaches and men "writing things down on clipboards." Really brings reading to life, doesn't it? Men writing things on clipboards? Wow, I have to go there. The men with clipboards, it turns out, are the team officials noting who's going to make the cut. Perhaps soccer isn't an exciting sport to represent, but the major turning point of the story here is the soccer tryouts and the posting of who made the team. That's it, that's the story of the book? How about some exciting goal scoring or butting the ball with the head? The thrill of competition? Believe it or not, the high point of the story is Papa Bear talking to the soccer league commissioner, a smirking guy in yellow sunglasses who looks like a meter maid in a sweater. "My kids made the team?" That's it. The high point of the story. No thrilling soccer game, no triumphant display of athletic prowess. Just soccer drills that impress one parent.

The Berenstain's try hard to discuss modern issues with their characters, but take everything so literally. Plus, it's hard to take their discussion of contemporary issues seriously when the missives or life lessons come out of the mouths of parents who look like Ma and Pa Kettle. Brother and Sister Bears' parents might as well be a mammy doll and a lawn jockey.

Assessment: Though I find reading this book a chore, my daughter loves it. I've seen her kick the ball around the yard, so maybe she's gearing up for a career in soccer. But she likes all of the Berenstain Bear books for some unfathomable reason. Perhaps it is their simplicity and lack of florid language. My daughter also likes to eat plain white tofu.

What I'm reading to my kids, the preamble.

Every night, I sit on the bed next to my daughter before she goes to bed and we have a storytime by flashlight. The flashlight was something I used to read by in bed when I was small, not because I was reading something I didn't want my parents seeing, but because I always had trouble going to sleep. So now, I use the same tactic with my own daughter who also has trouble getting to bed. I've always read to her, but a year ago she had a little trouble getting to sleep under the blare of the overhead light. Now we turn the lights off, turn on the flashlight, set a nice, quiet relaxing mood, and I read to my daughter while writhes on the bed and makes demands for milk or something to eat every two minutes.

This is going to be a periodic review of books that she has in her collection, and since we are frequent library visitors there is always a rotating slate of books to talk about. Kids books are....I don't want to make any general decrees about them, rather, I'll let each book speak for itself. Or...I'll give you a bleary-eyed opinion of the whimsy and overt crassness of each book. I don't know I want to do this, but I spend so much of my life reading them they have become a preoccupation.