Warming Up

I give my son a hard time, but aside from the attempts at self-harm and occasional madman spree, he is the sweetest of boys. The innocence and trust of a two-year old is one of the loveliest things about humanity, but also very easy to abuse for comic effect. It’s a double whammy.

A few weeks ago he had spotted there was a blocked up door frame next to his cot. In the old days all the rooms on each floor of this house were connected by interior doors, but long ago were bricked or plastered up, though this one just has a wooden partition filling it. Somehow the chat with me, him and his sister had led to the idea that this door might lead to prison. I forgot about it, but Ernie did not. This morning first thing he was pointing it and saying, “Oh no.” 

He can’t really know what prison is, but he knows it is bad and now is living his life in fear that he is two feet away from the entrance to it. Hopefully this hasn’t scarred him for life. He seemed generally OK about it, but it’s obviously made an impact on his tiny brain.

Later he was in our bedroom and I lifted him up to look at the picture on the mantelpiece (which are all of his sister and none of him, but as yet he’s too young to get the hump about that). There is a triptych of photos of Phoebe meeting Father Christmas at the age of 1, 2 and 3. In the first she looks terrified, in the second she is crying and in the third she is happy to be there. It’s a beautiful illustration of how we come to accept this ridiculous and scary story of the strange man creeping into our house. (Ernie missed out on his one year photo as he and I were stricken with sickness that day)

Ernie was fascinated by the story and especially with the negative pictures. Saying “scared” over and again. I took the opportunity to reassure him and let him know about the story of Father Christmas, going on to show him the fireplace where said child-obsessed house breaker would be entering our home. Ernie was apprehensive, but excited and by the end of the day was repeating Father Christmas’s name and looking forward to his presents.

But like the prison story he just took all the lies at face value. We could tell him anything and he’d believe it. The idiot.

But I love the wide-eyed wonder and the excitement that cannot be contained and leads to a literal jig of joy and the lisping “yesth” that greets almost any question. Positive, excited, forming an understanding of the terrifying world and the magical one of prisons and presents beyond it.