One day last week, my mother and sister came to baby-sit my girls while I was out at a meeting. Upon returning home, I found my mother on the couch with the girls, reading them a book. The book was about young Charles Dickens, and the hard life he led as a child before growing up to become a renowned author. The last page in the book featured an illustration of Dickens as a man, accompanied by a brief epilogue recounting his accomplishments later in life. The following exchange between my mother and B occurred:
B: Who's that guy? (pointing to the adult Dickens)
My Mother: That's Charles Dickens. The little boy from the book, just all grown up.
B: But he looks old!
My Mother: Well, he is r older, like me.
B: (wide-eyed) You're old?
My Mother: Well, I'm older.
B: (beside herself) Arent you sad?
My Mother: Uhh, nooo..It's ok.
B did not look convinced...
I almost chimed in with an explanation that there's only one alternative to not growing old, but I felt like her little brain had enough new material to churn over at that moment, so I kept my mouth shut.
Kudos to my mother for the very graceful way she handled this...
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