Kids ask hard questions. And we lucky parents get to answer them. How’s this for practical theology? What other line of work has you bombarded with existential inquiries while you’re up to your elbows in Lego? It can make you feel in over your head for sure, but it is part of the glorious exhaustion you signed up for when the kids came along.
Knowing that it can be hard, I’m still getting fed up with how hard we make it out to be. I am tired of images of inept parents. Sure, we all feel baffled sometimes, and sure, it feels good to vent a bit—some call that confession—but when the primary cultural image of parents is inept, the message starts to sink in. And that stinks.
Case in point: Philip Street’s Fischer comics – May 17-21.
It’s supposed to be funny and, in an awkward Globe and Mail way, I guess it is. But it makes me uncomfortable because it reinforces the idea that parents don’t know how to talk to their kids. And so much parenting comedy seems to revolve around this idea.
It’s just another reiteration of the whole earth-swallow-me-now humiliation of grocery shop questions of conception. Does this really happen? Or is this just another self-deprecating story we tell? And if it is true, then why? Why do we squirm or fudge it or dodge the questions? The assumption is either that we don’t know the answer or we’re too embarrassed to say. What a way to be adult, eh?
What’s wrong with telling your kids the truth as you see it?
Question: “Mummy, are you going to die?”
Answer: “Yes.” But then explain that bodies get old and don’t work anymore. Or that sometimes they get hurt and don’t work anymore. All bodies wear out—it is in the nature of bodies. That is hard knowledge, but it isn’t hard to say. And if the kid gets boggled by that, then agree that it’s hard knowledge. It’s hard for adults, too. Kids need to hear that.
But then we need to confirm what we believe, that God looks after us. That’s what we believe, one way or the other. What that looks like might be complicated or abstract, but, as Christians, we believe that ultimately nothing can separate us from the love of God. Death isn’t final. Death is loud, but death isn’t final. That’s something we can hold on to, whatever age we might be.
Avoiding talking about death fails to prepare kids for life. And I don’t just mean life when they are older. None of us knows when we’ll have to deal with death as a family. Being part of an intergenerational congregation means that we know old people. And old bodies fail. There’s no sidestepping that one. Aside from the inevitable aging process, we are all vulnerable to accidents. Bodies break. We are mortal. And so are those we love, be they grandparents or friends or goldfish.
I don’t think that this kind of information should be frightening or morbid. I’m not advocating bombarding your kids with hard information at a tender age, or really, at any age. But, when kids ask, it is a parent’s job to describe the world for our children. This description needs to be age-appropriate, but that doesn’t mean inaccurate. Kids want to sort the world out, be they two or 12 or 20, and they do that by gathering information, just like the rest of us.
This is about building trust with our kids. They can trust us to come to us with questions, just as they come to us with scraped knees. Just as we don’t belittle our little ones’ tears and fears, we should learn to address their questions. Honestly and helpfully. Doing so lets them know that they can come to us when the world is confusing.
“And where do babies come from?”
Well, that’s not a hard one either. If we can make babies, we should be able to explain the process to the babies we made. They don’t need medical terms or diagrams. Just answers that make sense to them in language that they can understand. At different ages, they need to know different levels. As infants and toddlers, they need to know the names of their body parts—and isn’t that a splashy game to play in the bath!—and, bit by bit, as they grow up, they need to know what bodies do. Honour them by telling them the truth.
Now, I’m writing this as a mother of little ones. I get lots of questions in the course of a day. The ones on our list right now are: “Where was I before I was born?”, “Can I have a little sister now?” and “Can I watch television?”
Perhaps it is harder when teenagers ask, “Why does God allow suffering in the world?” But I think the premise is still the same. Kids want our answers; they want to know how we understand the world.
Barbara Ferrier works in Guelph as the children’s ministry director at Kortright Presbyterian Church. After the earthquake in Haiti this past winter, she prepared a resource for the parents in her church to help them speak with their children about suffering. She wrote
Often children (and even some adults) assume suffering is punishment. It’s not. Often suffering is a natural consequence. For example, if I don’t take care of my teeth, then tooth decay and pain will result. That’s not God’s punishment—it’s a consequence. The suffering of the Haitians in the earthquake is at least in part the consequence of poor building standards, resulting in massive collapse of buildings. It’s not God’s punishment per se.
She went on to discuss how we live in the time between Jesus’ earthly life and his second coming: “We live between the times—in an ‘already, but not yet’ condition. So there are glimpses of the Kingdom of God, but there is much fallenness yet around us.” *
These kinds of explanations can help us discuss the hard questions with other children, and discussion is what kids are seeking. They are trying to sort it all out. They want to talk about how the world works and how they should then be in the world. Our honest answers to their questions are going to help with that sorting process, one way or the other. Either we give them something to emulate or something to rebel against. And often, we give them both.
Which is probably a good thing.
* If you’d like to read all of Barbara’s resource for parents, drop her a note at bferrier@sentex.net
