Back in the days when I would drive my 7-year-old to school (How long ago was that? Six months? Five years?), we had a tradition of listening to "The Daily" in the car. It's an excellent news podcast from the New York Times, one that keeps me informed about current events while also helping me understand their personal implications for people around the world. There were very few episodes that we skipped because I didn't feel they were appropriate for her to hear. When she had questions, I tried my best to answer. When she wanted to talk through something she heard, we did. And if she wanted to take a break, we turned it off.
I vividly remember the first time I heard about "coronavirus." It was a gray winter morning, not long after the new year had begun, along with my fear of war with Iran. The news around that had quieted a bit and we were, as always, on to the next thing. It was a powerful, moving episode about a family in China expressing their feelings of grief and outrage. I remember my eyes filling with tears once or twice, trying to keep them from spilling over so that my daughter wouldn't be alarmed.
"Mommy?" came a small voice from the backseat. I could hear the question before she even asked, could feel the certainty of it in my gut. "Is that going to come to where we live?"
I don't recall exactly how I answered her. I know I did my best to answer her truthfully while also reassuring her and helping her feel some control. Probably something like, "Nobody can say for sure, but it's far away right now. Doctors and scientists are working really hard to understand it and do everything they can to keep people healthy. What are some things you can do to keep healthy?"
We talked about hand washing and covering sneezes and went to school.
I vividly remember the first time I heard about "coronavirus." It was a gray winter morning, not long after the new year had begun, along with my fear of war with Iran. The news around that had quieted a bit and we were, as always, on to the next thing. It was a powerful, moving episode about a family in China expressing their feelings of grief and outrage. I remember my eyes filling with tears once or twice, trying to keep them from spilling over so that my daughter wouldn't be alarmed.
"Mommy?" came a small voice from the backseat. I could hear the question before she even asked, could feel the certainty of it in my gut. "Is that going to come to where we live?"
I don't recall exactly how I answered her. I know I did my best to answer her truthfully while also reassuring her and helping her feel some control. Probably something like, "Nobody can say for sure, but it's far away right now. Doctors and scientists are working really hard to understand it and do everything they can to keep people healthy. What are some things you can do to keep healthy?"
We talked about hand washing and covering sneezes and went to school.
Last week, I was sitting next to this same young girl for dinner in our kitchen. She is taller now, missing more teeth, and has a new hairstyle. Between bites of chicken nuggets, her feet swinging contentedly beneath the table, she asked, "Mommy? Do you remember when we listened to The Daily and they talked about coronavirus?"
"Yes."
"Why did you lie?"
"Yes."
"Why did you lie?"
I stopped chewing. I could feel my heart beating in my chest. "I didn't lie, sweetheart," I finally said. "I just didn't know."
