Grandpa, You Can Come If You Don't Talk About War

I am about to head out to New Haven. It is always a pleasure. Not New Haven, but my daughter, Hira, my son in law, Todd, and my five year old grand daughter, Lucy. It's only two hours which is much better than the cross country trip that I would regularly take when they lived in Seattle.

This time is different. I was to drive Vish, the father of Hira's best friend and the grandfather of Ruby, who is a year and a half. But Vish just called to say that he has a flu. It has been going around. This is a possible scenario: Ruby got it and gave it to her dad. Her dad gave it to Lucy at a Christmas party we had. Lucy had a cough and a fever and finally got on antibiotics and is getting over it. And now Vish may have it and can start the cycle all over again.

Of course it's different when you have kids. Ailments go around and around and around. But neither Vish nor I wish to be the Typhoid Mary's for our respective grand children.

Soooo, I am encouraging my friend not to go. Usually I go for more than a weekend. And I thought about not going--for a millisecond. I called Hira and told her of the situation. There was a sound from the background--a Lucy sound.

Hira reported. "Lucy says you can come but you can't talk about war."

Don't get me wrong. Lucy loves her grandpa (who she sometimes calls "grandpoo"). I feel confident of that. That confidence is borne of the fact that she does not mince her words.

Lucy hates war. She hates everything that is connected to it. She hates the very mention of it. And there is nothing ideological about that.

I tell her stories. In fact I have been telling one that involves some of her stuffed animals and a few others to boot. I do not fill these stories with killing. In fact they are very benign. Yet, every time there is something that is scary in the very least, Lucy will tell me to stop.

I don't know when the issue of war entered into our discussion or stories. I can't even imagine. But I am sure there was something, sometime, somewhere. Maybe it was when I was telling her about the Civil War. And, perhaps, the fact that I can't remember is more a commentary on me than Lucy.

Fact is that my five year old grand daughter is very clear. She wants nothing to do with anything involving killing or war. And when she is clear she makes that clarity known.

Some people might smile and say that it is sweet that a child wants to avoid violence. Some people might say that this is something that she will outgrow as she learns what the "real" world is all about.

I say that my five year old grand daughter has a more civilized view of the world than most of the adults who are running it. For repulsion at the very thought of killing other human beings is the most human of sentiments. War is the sanctioned murder of others. It is barbaric and I am amazed and pleased that my grand daughter can feel and see this. Let us hope that the five year olds will run the world someday.