How much crazy is too much crazy?
I went to see Harry Potter last night. I was grateful my eldest did not join us because she would have lasted less than 45 seconds. That’s how long it would have taken for her to freak out and run out of the theater. Not that I blame her, she comes by it honestly. I have a great aversion to scary. I’ve wasted a lot of money not watching movies by shielding my eyes from anything remotely scary for many many years.
I say this all only to introduce the latest oddity in my child’s educational experience. It is Fear Class. This week, for an hour (or two!) each day she is being taught what to do during an earthquake, what a scary person looks like, how to escape a burning house. Today, when she came home from school she told us she was packing a bag to put at the front door with money, clothes and food in case we needed to make a fast escape (only to parallel this with my upbringing: we were taught to pack a bag in case the Messiah showed up in the middle of the night to fly us to Israel on the wings of a large bird). She then asked me for plastic bags to seal any poisonous cleaning solutions I had within reach of my babies.
On a very rational level, I know I should appreciate that my 10 year old is learning about the real world. Bad things can happen, and it is smart to know what to do. Knowledge is, as they say, power. Yet I can’t help but remember better more innocent times (say, last week) when true tragedy was defined by our iPod running out of power or her leggings being lost in the wash.
For now, I’ll hug her a little and then rearrange our shelves so that books are at a safe height for an earthquake or meteor attack.
What do you think: is there a healthy way to approach the scary things out there?
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