when the older of my two nephews was really young (i mean, he's only five now) he used to love the story of goldilocks and the three bears. there was a little board book that belonged to my brothers when they were small that i would read to him. if i didn't have the board book, i would tell him the story from memory - complete with different voices for all the characters and dramatizations in the reading. when they moved to saudi arabia the first time, i used to read him the story over skype. the other night, i needed to keep his younger brother quiet for a few minutes, so i sat him down in the kitchen and told him all about goldilocks and the three bears (which i am almost one hundred percent sure he has heard before a million times both from me and his own parents, but which he listened to as if it was the very first time he had heard it. i appreciated it).
after i finished the story and he asked his follow up questions about goldilocks (they didn't eat her, did they? she was okay, wasn't she? what happened to her? where did she go? why did they never see her again? those kinds of things), he sat quiet for a minute before he said, "but... what if her mom didn't know how to make porridge? what if her mom didn't know how to make anything?" and suddenly i was feeling sorry for one of the few fictional characters that i never really felt anything for one way or the other.
other things this kid has said over the past couple of weeks:
he was sitting in the back seat of my car, and when i glanced back at him in my rearview mirror, i noticed he looked upset. "omar, what's wrong?" i asked. he met my eyes in the mirror and said, "it's just... trees don't talk." um. okay. (he wouldn't elaborate, but i'm still not entirely sure that he wasn't upset because he heard trees talking and trees are not supposed to talk.)
another time i was taking them with my grandma to walmart so they could show her a book they had seen and wanted. he hops out of my car and says apropos of nothing, "i wouldn't want to have blood dripping down me." yeah, kid, cause that's not creepy.
and also, the title of this post doesn't really have much to do with anything, but my brain really isn't firing on all pistons at the moment. (i honestly don't think i have ever used that phrase before in my life, and i'm not really sure where it came from.) there are a lot of reallys in this tiny paragraph.
*Forget About What I Said - The Killers
after i finished the story and he asked his follow up questions about goldilocks (they didn't eat her, did they? she was okay, wasn't she? what happened to her? where did she go? why did they never see her again? those kinds of things), he sat quiet for a minute before he said, "but... what if her mom didn't know how to make porridge? what if her mom didn't know how to make anything?" and suddenly i was feeling sorry for one of the few fictional characters that i never really felt anything for one way or the other.
other things this kid has said over the past couple of weeks:
he was sitting in the back seat of my car, and when i glanced back at him in my rearview mirror, i noticed he looked upset. "omar, what's wrong?" i asked. he met my eyes in the mirror and said, "it's just... trees don't talk." um. okay. (he wouldn't elaborate, but i'm still not entirely sure that he wasn't upset because he heard trees talking and trees are not supposed to talk.)
another time i was taking them with my grandma to walmart so they could show her a book they had seen and wanted. he hops out of my car and says apropos of nothing, "i wouldn't want to have blood dripping down me." yeah, kid, cause that's not creepy.
and also, the title of this post doesn't really have much to do with anything, but my brain really isn't firing on all pistons at the moment. (i honestly don't think i have ever used that phrase before in my life, and i'm not really sure where it came from.) there are a lot of reallys in this tiny paragraph.
*Forget About What I Said - The Killers
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