So I learned a lesson about reading to Liam the other day. We have a copy of 70 Favorite Stories for Young Readers that Allen's parents passed on to us. It's a Reader's Digest publication with a copyright of 1974. The inscription on the inside says, "With love to Amy from Grandma B. June 27 1977."
This is not a book that was designed for five-year-olds. It has stories by Louisa May Alcott, Isaac Asimov, O. Henry among others - most of which I don't recognize but probably should. The book has hardly any pictures and I don't know why Liam is interested in it, but he keeps asking me to read stories from it, so I do. If he got bored I'd stop, but he doesn't usually even play or color while I read. It probably helps explain why his vocabulary includes words like "vaguely" and "complicated."
It turns that it was a story by Louisa May Alcott that caused a traumatic moment for my boy. I had no idea she even wrote short stories. This one was called "Onawandah" and is about a wounded native American youth who was taken in by a minister. It's set "Long ago, when Indians haunted the great forests, and every settlement had its fort for the protection of the inhabitants." This is actually the opening sentence. It made me nervous because, as far as I know the term "Indians" is on shaky ground in the world of political correctness. Also, and more importantly to me, because it set up the white people as "the inhabitants" and the indigenous people as the aggressors. They sound somehow less than human to me when described as haunting the forest.
OK, I told myself, relax. This kind of thinking probably puts me in the camp of people who no longer want children to watch old episodes of Sesame Street or get the works of Mark Twain banned from school libraries. It's part of our history. We can talk about it.
But maybe I should have been more wary when the term "scalping" came up. Not all historical conversations are appropriate at all ages. I managed to skip that one. We never got to the other discussion, though - the one where we discuss the fact that the Native Americans were here first and the white people waltzed in like they owned the place just because they managed to get there. Because the story got way too sad.
Maybe I was lulled by the fact that the story was clearly going to be one about compassion winning over the predjudices and fears of ignorant people. Or maybe I was just tired and wanted to avoid arguing with Liam or trying to explain why I was switching stories. Anyways, to summarize, the minister's two children are taken by another tribe and the Native American youth finds them and brings them back, but dies just as the three arrive on the banks of the community the children were raised in. He dies, no less, because of protecting the minister's son from his own bad judgement. By that time everyone can see his virtue and they are all terribly sad. They remember him fondly. The end.
Even though I skipped over some of the references to death Liam was actually crying by the end. Curled up in a little ball with his face pressed against the bed. Crying loudly although he kept quiet while I was actually reading and I didn't realize he was crying until almost the end when I decided to finish the story just for a little closure.
Of course, you may argue, it's impossible to shield children from all the sadness and suffering in the world, and probably not a good idea to try. But he's only five and doesn't need to know about all of it right now. I remember being exposed to some of the harder truths of human experience at a young age and those particular details still haunt me more vividly than some others. Maybe they should, but I would argue that part of our ability to maintain sanity in this crazy world comes from the ability to spend most of our time in denial about some aspects of human nature.
But the bottom line is I also don't need the drama right now. Selfish, I guess. Minutes later we were rushing to get ready for Devin's doctor's appointment (delayed by trying to comfort him and by the fact that he had to find socks.) He took the dirty socks out of his shoes and insisted on taking them to the end of the hall to put them in the dirty clothes - despite the fact that I repeatedly told him to leave them and just put on his shoes. When I got frustrated and spoke sharply about this we had more and louder crying - with Devin in the swing nearby and me hoping to get him into his car seat in the van without adding his loud cries to the mix. I told Liam to wait outside, which was another unpopular decision. Thankfully his dad arrived about that time and could help him get in the van and listen to his tail of woe.
So what lesson did I learn? Screen the stories I read to Liam. Especially from this particular book. I'm glad he doesn't insist on a steady diet of Captain Underpants, but I think we'll skip Uncle Tom's Cabin for now.
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