As an adult, some part of me revolts against the enforced, unbroken diet of sweetness of so many children’s books, television and movies. My subconscious dreams up especially nasty ways that harsh reality might intrude on their walled gardens of bliss (“Suddenly Pippi Longstocking realized she was looking into the cold, remorseless glare of a T-1000 Terminator”)… but I don’t share them with my kids.
The reason being, another part of me knows my children only have so long before they learn that much of the world actually isn’t benevolent, that not everyone wishes them well and that terrible suffering is all too possible (and, at some point, likely). Maybe the part of me that reacts so strongly to that marshmallow-and-lollipop portrayal of the world misses the days when it was all I knew, too.
Or maybe at some level, I’m just kind of hungry, and bacon sounds good. I do know one thing: it’s going to be a long time before I share the caption to this one with either kid.
