Man or machine?
My son lives in a literal world. And it can be endearing, literally.
The other day, my wife said to the six-year-old that she had a bone to pick with him. His face darkened as he thought nervously that such a prospect could hurt. A lot.
Later his intrigue in his body deepened, quite literally again, when we went to the doctor’s and he examined my son’s nose. The doctor explained that what most of the world calls a nose is actually only a breathing apparatus and that the nose is really the inner workings in the head and neck. The doctor explained, for the benefit of us parents, that a part of the nose’s inner workings is like a radiator that spins and whirls to heat the air we breath in and out. Like a radiator. That caught my son’s attention. His eyes widened and his face brightened as he pondered the idea of what’s inside. We found out about his new understanding of his body at dinner when we all shared our best and worst things of the day.
My son blurted out:
Worst: “Mummy wants to pick my bone and it will hurt.”
Best: “I’m a machine. The doctor told me so.”
