The Jackson 5 "ABC"

I wrote a little about the toy that my kids have, that plays "Whoop There It Is" and other songs.

My daughter was excited to come to the understanding that there is actually a full "Whoop There It Is" song, which I found on Youtube for her.

This piqued her interest.  Were the other songs on her toy "real" too?

"Oh honey, you're going to LOVE this!" I enthused.

Her toy plays "ABC" by The Jackson 5, so I pulled up this amazing performance of the band, in full 1970s awesomeness.  She was a bit confused by the huge hair, and she couldn't quite process that none of them were girls.  But she got a kick out of the fact that the performers were basically kids, like her.

She was particularly intrigued by the leader, Michael.

"Is he still here?"

This is her way of asking, "Is he still alive?"

"No honey.  This video was from a long time ago.  He's passed away."

"How did he die, Daddy?"

And THAT'S the question I was hoping she wouldn't ask.  Because, even after giving this subject thought for many, many years (how to explain when someone dies from drug use), I still wasn't sure how I would answer it.

I was a little older than my daughter, when my Noni Pa died.  Noni Pa was my maternal Grandmother's father (that is, my Great Grandfather).  Noni Pa and Noni Ma lived next door to my Grandmother and Grandfather, so he was very present in my young life.

They were immigrants, with Italian accents that were a little hard for me to penetrate at that young age.  But there was so much warmth and so much pride that emanated from them, that even a little kid understood.

Sometime (a few years, maybe) after he had died, I asked my Mom how he had died.  She explained that about a year before his death, he had been walking, and was struck by a car.  "He was never really the same after that" she explained.  Within a year of the accident, he died, no doubt due to the stress the accident had put on his body.

Years later, some time in Middle School, by friend Brian told me something shocking:

"When I was younger, my parents didn't want me to know that Elvis died from using drugs.  So they told me he was hit by a car.  I believed that for years before I found out the truth."

Of course I immediately panicked.

My sweet old great-grandfather, was a druggie, and my parents lied to me!!!

Long story short, my Mom assured me that Noni Pa was not on drugs.  And thus concludes the only time in my life that I was happy to know that someone had been hit by a car.

"How did he die, Daddy?" my daughter had asked.

The whole Noni Pa/Elvis story flashed through my mind in the few seconds it took for me to realize that she was going to ask that question, and for her to say it out loud.

Also flashing through my mind was this piece I'd read about how the folks at Sesame Street created the episode that dealt with Mr. Hooper's death.  You can't say "He was old" because, to a 4 year old, anyone over 10 is old.  And you can't say he was sick, because sneezing is a sign of sick.  And you really can't tell a kid that it happens to everyone, because then they're terrified that the death of everyone they love, is imminent.

"Well, honey . . ."

We've been very straightforward about death with our 4 year old, whether we're talking about my sister or her fish.  I just tried to answer the question, as best I could.


"He took a bunch of medicine that he wasn't supposed to take.  And he kept doing it, even though it was bad for his body.  He didn't take care of himself, and his family and friends didn't make sure he was taking care of himself.  And eventually, he took too much of the bad medicine, and his body stopped working.  It just stopped working."

"Like Mr. Kite?"

"Yes, his body stopped working, like your fish's body stopped working."

"Oh."  Pause.  "Can we listen to Dan?"

And that was the end of it.

It's the difference between a 43 year old and a four year old, I guess.

I've been around long enough that the subject of death feels like a tangled, psychological mess, where people are tempted to lie (to Brian, about the cause of Elvis' death; to Michael Jackson, that he was immortal), or obfuscate, or torture themselves over trying to say the "right" thing.

But my 4 year old, who has had a little loss, just accepts that death is a part of the process.  That it's as normal as music in the air.  That it's as uncomplicated as ABC and 1-2-3.


Hear the song on Youtube.

The Beatles "Being For The Benefit Of Mr. Kite"

When my wife was pregnant with our daughter, we went through dozens, hundreds of ideas for a name. There was a period where we really wanted to name her after a Beatles song, somehow.

We ran through the many many choices for a Beatles-themed name:

Prudence
Lucy
Sadie
Pam
Eleanor
Julia
Martha
Michelle
Abbey

But none of them seemed right. We ended up dropping The Beatles theme.

Around that same time, we got a fish. A blue Beta fish. And I guess we just wanted to complete that thought of using a Beatles song for a name.

So we named him Mr. Kite.

And for the last 2 ½ years, he’s quietly made his home on the mantle in the living room.

But tonight, I came home, and the fishbowl was next to the sink. Washed out and emptied of his little fish rocks.

I can’t say I knew him well. It’s not like he was a snuggly puppy with a big personality or anything. But he was a part of our lives. And at some point our daughter---who has known Mr. Kite for her whole life---will probably ask where the fish is. It was one of her special treats, to be lifted up, so she could give him a little food. I looked forward to the day when she could take on pet care as her responsibility. But that task will have to be for another pet.

So this post is for you, Mr. Kite. Thanks for being a benefit to our lives.

-------------------

I actually wrote that post early in the summer.

I'd come home to an empty house, saw the empty fishbowl, and wrote out my feelings.

Later, I was making something to eat, and my wife called. She and the kids were spending the day at my mother-in-law's house. She chatted about her day, and the kids and their plans and what we might be doing on the weekend and . . .

"Is there something you want to tell me?" I asked, a little indignantly

"Uh. About what?" She seemed genuinely confused.

"About Mr. Kite?"

"What about him?"

"That he's gone?!?!"

"Oh Honey, No!"

She felt awful.

Earlier in the day, she had decided that Mr. Kite, after two-plus years on the mantle, needed a change. So she got a nice vase, and make that his new home, and then put the vase in our daughter's room, so she could enjoy seeing him from her bed.

He wasn't dead, just relocated.

So I put that post aside.

Do you know that often, newspapers will write the obituary of someone famous who is old or in ill health, before they have died? It gives them a chance to do research and have the obituary ready to go, when the celebrity actually dies. And occasionally, those premature obituaries get published?

Thankfully, "Mr. Kite" was not described as "The UK's favorite grandmother."

Sadly, Mr. Kite died for real, last night. His bowl is in the kitchen, out of site, obscured by a box of cereal, until we are ready to talk to our daughter about it.

She's innocently sitting across the living room from me, watching "Curious George." And I'm wishing for all the world that I didn't have to have this conversation with her.

But, as much as we'd like to, there are some things that you can't postpone anymore . . .