It's like the sex talk: Just tell them.
The answer is all of those. Maybe. Depending. But probably the first choice.
Am I helping? No. Sorry. I'm confused, too. In the name of parental due diligence, I've been perusing articles online on the best way to talk to children about the Boston Marathon bombings. Sadly, this isn't the first time I've had to undertake such a bleak exploratory campaign. I did the same thing after the murder of Leiby Kletzky, and after the Aurora shootings, and after the horror in Newtown. My kids weren't born yet when 9/11 happened, but most of the advice dispensed back then was similar, and it's all sensible stuff: Tell your kids that the people around them are doing everything they can to keep them safe; let them know you're there to talk; limit TV exposure; keep up regular routines.
I can't add much more to these expert-generated lists, but as the pile of national horrors grows, I've found myself leaning more toward choice "a" (the frank, parent-initiated discussion), with an occasional reliance on choice "b" (the "sooooo, what's happenin', dude?" tactic). With the exception of the Santa Claus/Easter Bunny/Tooth Fairy long con*, blunt honesty seems to be the way to go. Because, unfortunately, the "Happy Ostrich" (choice "c") isn't really a viable option once your kids start going to school.
Once your kids are regularly around other kids, they are going to hear about everything that happens in the world. IMMEDIATELY. From somewhere. In detail. After Newtown, I tiptoed around the subject. When my 8-year-old son came home from school the Monday after the shootings, I asked him if his teacher had talked about anything of note that day (I had kept both my children isolated from any information about it for the entire weekend). He said no, but that evening, as I tucked him into bed, he nonchalantly asked me about the "guy who shot all those kids in Connecticut." He had heard about the murders from other kids on the bus (complete with a slew of wildly erroneous details). I had asked the wrong questions, instead of simply bringing up the subject and giving him the correct, age-appropriate information in a calm, secure environment where he feels safe.
I didn't bring up the Boston Marathon bombings immediately, either, continuing to follow the advice of experts, subtly prodding him to see what he knew with vague "how was your day?" questions, reading his cues, and waiting to see if he brought it up with me. He strolled in the door the day after the Boston attack, and I grabbed the TV remote to turn off the news, which I had had on all day for work. He rolled his eyes at my slick mom maneuver and informed me he already knew about the bombings and that I didn't have to turn the TV off. He had been reading the newspaper over the bus driver's shoulder that morning while they were idling in the parking lot waiting for the school doors to open. Apparently he reads the newspaper over her shoulder quite a bit. He then gleefully told me that he had seen a naked lady in the driver's newspaper a few weeks back. (Note to self: Find out what newspaper said bus driver is reading.)
It's true that every child is different and requires different approaches when it comes to dealing with these subjects. My son is entrenched in that golden "no-bullshit" period that no one warned me about. He should contract out his internal BS detector to Guantanamo: White lies don't work; neither do the outright ones (I'm hoping there haven't been too many of those). It doesn't pay to try to give him the run-around — he wants specifics, he can decipher the meaning behind every furrow in my brow, and he puts me through inquisitions that make my head spin until his curiosity is satisfied.
The other day he asked me how Hitler died. I didn't even know he knew who Hitler was. After finally coming to the conclusion that my other, more murky M.O. has been something of a failure, I provided him with the brief unsanitized details, he asked a few more questions, and then he went back to playing "Skylanders Giants."
My 6-year-old daughter is more stoic, seemingly unconcerned with what happens outside of her inner sphere of friends and Justice shopping sprees and "Minecraft." Nothing seems to faze her. I once disciplined her for refusing to clean her room by bagging up every single toy and book, telling her she wasn't getting them back until she agreed to clean her room when asked, and she DID NOT GIVE A SHIT. For a whole month, nine Heftys teeming with kid crap languished in my bedroom and blocked the pathway to my own bed, until she finally backed down in her typical matter-of-fact, emotionless fashion. She's the most frustrating child on Earth to punish, because she'll look me squarely in the eye and say, "I DON'T CARE." And she really doesn't.
For those reasons, it's tempting not to rock the boat and bring up current events with this reticent creature who seems to have mastered the art of aloofness and doesn't wear her emotions and thoughts on her sleeve like her brother does. But, as I discovered after accidentally coming across her diary recently, this kid's got a lot on her mind. She thinks everyone hates her; she is in love; she wants to set everything on fire; she thinks life is wonderful; she thinks life is terrible.
In other words, just because she's not bringing stuff up with me doesn't mean she's not thinking about it, and thinking hard about it. I can pretend she doesn't know about Newtown or Boston, but she's probably heard something, even if it's not the full story, or the accurate story. You've got to jump-start conversations with these types of kids, too. Of course you've got to gear it to each child's age and emotional fortitude and not push the little poker-faces to talk about it more than they want to, but it would be naive to not bring it up at all.
When I was a nosy 6-year-old, I found this book about the birds and the bees on my aunt's shelf. It had naked cartoon pictures**, which totally fascinated me, and clinical-yet-friendly explanations for weird grown-up stuff I had no idea existed. I asked my aunt if I could take the book home — I still remember the weird look on her face and the "I have to ask your mother" response. I guess my mom was OK with it, because it came home with me that night. I absorbed its contents cover to cover, and then I knew all about sex, and that was that. None of my friends believed me until about four years later, when we had to go to school on a Wednesday night and watch "The Film" about our bodies. I remember seeing some of my classmates freaking out and just feeling relieved I already knew.
There are things you're "supposed" to do as a parent, but ultimately, there are no set rules, just as there are no set rules for love, or war, or life. That's why we cling to routines, and why we instill these routines in our children to temporarily erase this truth from our brains: When you're a parent, you're winging it about 95 percent of the time, which is a frightening endeavor fraught with self-doubt, panic, and anxiety.
There's a reason you'll often see Facebook posts from parents (myself included) in the vein of "Someone tell me what to do here!" or "Is my kid the only one this happens to?" or "I am going to SERIOUSLY punch the school bully in the face myself if the school doesn't start f^&*ing handling it." We post our issues and queries and anecdotes because we want to share (it's comforting to know others are experiencing the same challenges), but we also want confirmation or validation that we did the right thing, handled a situation the correct way, made the right call — did what we were supposed to do.
There are no easy answers, though, when it comes to kidnappings and hijackings and bombings and shootings, and we shouldn't beat ourselves up too much if we feel we've mucked up these parent-child conversations. Work through the chaos, not around it, the best you can — it's not going away anytime soon. Most kids are remarkably sturdy if you're open, encouraging, and honest. Muster up as much confidence as you can and just tell them the truth. They'll know they can trust you even when the world is at its darkest.
Talking to your kids: a few helpful links
http://www.washingtonpost.com/blogs/answer-sheet/wp/2013/04/16/how-to-talk-to-children-about-deadly-boston-marathon-bombings/
http://www.today.com/moms/8-tips-talking-kids-about-boston-marathon-bombing-1C9361539
http://boston.cbslocal.com/2013/04/15/boston-marathon-explosions-talking-to-your-children/
* It's like a surprise birthday party, people — the scam eventually ends, you see it was done to make you feel good, and you STILL get treats!
** You totally clicked on "naked cartoon pictures," didn't you.
If you want more of me on Twitter, @WarriorHauswife is where you should go.
I can't add much more to these expert-generated lists, but as the pile of national horrors grows, I've found myself leaning more toward choice "a" (the frank, parent-initiated discussion), with an occasional reliance on choice "b" (the "sooooo, what's happenin', dude?" tactic). With the exception of the Santa Claus/Easter Bunny/Tooth Fairy long con*, blunt honesty seems to be the way to go. Because, unfortunately, the "Happy Ostrich" (choice "c") isn't really a viable option once your kids start going to school.
Once your kids are regularly around other kids, they are going to hear about everything that happens in the world. IMMEDIATELY. From somewhere. In detail. After Newtown, I tiptoed around the subject. When my 8-year-old son came home from school the Monday after the shootings, I asked him if his teacher had talked about anything of note that day (I had kept both my children isolated from any information about it for the entire weekend). He said no, but that evening, as I tucked him into bed, he nonchalantly asked me about the "guy who shot all those kids in Connecticut." He had heard about the murders from other kids on the bus (complete with a slew of wildly erroneous details). I had asked the wrong questions, instead of simply bringing up the subject and giving him the correct, age-appropriate information in a calm, secure environment where he feels safe.
I didn't bring up the Boston Marathon bombings immediately, either, continuing to follow the advice of experts, subtly prodding him to see what he knew with vague "how was your day?" questions, reading his cues, and waiting to see if he brought it up with me. He strolled in the door the day after the Boston attack, and I grabbed the TV remote to turn off the news, which I had had on all day for work. He rolled his eyes at my slick mom maneuver and informed me he already knew about the bombings and that I didn't have to turn the TV off. He had been reading the newspaper over the bus driver's shoulder that morning while they were idling in the parking lot waiting for the school doors to open. Apparently he reads the newspaper over her shoulder quite a bit. He then gleefully told me that he had seen a naked lady in the driver's newspaper a few weeks back. (Note to self: Find out what newspaper said bus driver is reading.)
It's true that every child is different and requires different approaches when it comes to dealing with these subjects. My son is entrenched in that golden "no-bullshit" period that no one warned me about. He should contract out his internal BS detector to Guantanamo: White lies don't work; neither do the outright ones (I'm hoping there haven't been too many of those). It doesn't pay to try to give him the run-around — he wants specifics, he can decipher the meaning behind every furrow in my brow, and he puts me through inquisitions that make my head spin until his curiosity is satisfied.
The other day he asked me how Hitler died. I didn't even know he knew who Hitler was. After finally coming to the conclusion that my other, more murky M.O. has been something of a failure, I provided him with the brief unsanitized details, he asked a few more questions, and then he went back to playing "Skylanders Giants."
My 6-year-old daughter is more stoic, seemingly unconcerned with what happens outside of her inner sphere of friends and Justice shopping sprees and "Minecraft." Nothing seems to faze her. I once disciplined her for refusing to clean her room by bagging up every single toy and book, telling her she wasn't getting them back until she agreed to clean her room when asked, and she DID NOT GIVE A SHIT. For a whole month, nine Heftys teeming with kid crap languished in my bedroom and blocked the pathway to my own bed, until she finally backed down in her typical matter-of-fact, emotionless fashion. She's the most frustrating child on Earth to punish, because she'll look me squarely in the eye and say, "I DON'T CARE." And she really doesn't.
For those reasons, it's tempting not to rock the boat and bring up current events with this reticent creature who seems to have mastered the art of aloofness and doesn't wear her emotions and thoughts on her sleeve like her brother does. But, as I discovered after accidentally coming across her diary recently, this kid's got a lot on her mind. She thinks everyone hates her; she is in love; she wants to set everything on fire; she thinks life is wonderful; she thinks life is terrible.
In other words, just because she's not bringing stuff up with me doesn't mean she's not thinking about it, and thinking hard about it. I can pretend she doesn't know about Newtown or Boston, but she's probably heard something, even if it's not the full story, or the accurate story. You've got to jump-start conversations with these types of kids, too. Of course you've got to gear it to each child's age and emotional fortitude and not push the little poker-faces to talk about it more than they want to, but it would be naive to not bring it up at all.
When I was a nosy 6-year-old, I found this book about the birds and the bees on my aunt's shelf. It had naked cartoon pictures**, which totally fascinated me, and clinical-yet-friendly explanations for weird grown-up stuff I had no idea existed. I asked my aunt if I could take the book home — I still remember the weird look on her face and the "I have to ask your mother" response. I guess my mom was OK with it, because it came home with me that night. I absorbed its contents cover to cover, and then I knew all about sex, and that was that. None of my friends believed me until about four years later, when we had to go to school on a Wednesday night and watch "The Film" about our bodies. I remember seeing some of my classmates freaking out and just feeling relieved I already knew.
There are things you're "supposed" to do as a parent, but ultimately, there are no set rules, just as there are no set rules for love, or war, or life. That's why we cling to routines, and why we instill these routines in our children to temporarily erase this truth from our brains: When you're a parent, you're winging it about 95 percent of the time, which is a frightening endeavor fraught with self-doubt, panic, and anxiety.
There's a reason you'll often see Facebook posts from parents (myself included) in the vein of "Someone tell me what to do here!" or "Is my kid the only one this happens to?" or "I am going to SERIOUSLY punch the school bully in the face myself if the school doesn't start f^&*ing handling it." We post our issues and queries and anecdotes because we want to share (it's comforting to know others are experiencing the same challenges), but we also want confirmation or validation that we did the right thing, handled a situation the correct way, made the right call — did what we were supposed to do.
There are no easy answers, though, when it comes to kidnappings and hijackings and bombings and shootings, and we shouldn't beat ourselves up too much if we feel we've mucked up these parent-child conversations. Work through the chaos, not around it, the best you can — it's not going away anytime soon. Most kids are remarkably sturdy if you're open, encouraging, and honest. Muster up as much confidence as you can and just tell them the truth. They'll know they can trust you even when the world is at its darkest.
Talking to your kids: a few helpful links
http://www.washingtonpost.com/blogs/answer-sheet/wp/2013/04/16/how-to-talk-to-children-about-deadly-boston-marathon-bombings/
http://www.today.com/moms/8-tips-talking-kids-about-boston-marathon-bombing-1C9361539
http://boston.cbslocal.com/2013/04/15/boston-marathon-explosions-talking-to-your-children/
* It's like a surprise birthday party, people — the scam eventually ends, you see it was done to make you feel good, and you STILL get treats!
** You totally clicked on "naked cartoon pictures," didn't you.
If you want more of me on Twitter, @WarriorHauswife is where you should go.
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