Why We Shouldn't Shield Children from Darkness (www.times.com) & Note

Christine Cissy White 1/9/186:41 AM

Note: I was tagged this morning on Facebook from my friend Kathy who linked to this essay. It made me super emotional and sad in the way that makes me feel deeply alive. I'm so glad she shared it with me. I'm so glad she didn't worry if it would "trigger" or upset me as a trauma survivor with a high ACE score. It did the total opposite.

It's written by MATT DE LA PEÑA and published in Time. Although it doesn't discuss ACEs it's relevant because I think some of us have the idea that not mentioning or discussing ACEs is somehow kind or protective, in private and in the doctor's office, as though to do so is too hard or triggering, when for many, it's the exact opposite and not talking robs every one of deeper connection - those resiliency/relationship building things. I hear so much good press about It makes sense that we're nervous sometimes but I think we just need more practice and to share how wonderful and moving these moments can be for all.

I was visiting an elementary school in Rome, Georgia, where I read and discussed one of my older books, Last Stop on Market Street, as I usually do. But at the end of the presentation I decided, on a whim, to read Love to them, too, even though it wasn’t out yet. I projected Loren’s illustrations as I recited the poem from memory, and after I finished, something remarkable happened. A boy immediately raised his hand, and I called on him, and he told me in front of the entire group, “When you just read that to us I got this feeling. In my heart. And I thought of my ancestors. Mostly my grandma, though … because she always gave us so much love. And she’s gone now.”
And then he started quietly crying.

And a handful of the teachers started crying, too.
I nearly lost it myself. Right there in front of 150 third graders. It took me several minutes to compose myself and thank him for his comment.
On the way back to my hotel, I was still thinking about that boy, and his raw emotional response. I felt so lucky to have been there to witness it. I thought of all the boys growing up in working-class neighborhoods around the country who are terrified to show any emotion. Because that’s how I grew up, too — terrified. Yet this young guy was brave enough to raise his hand, in front of everyone, and share how he felt after listening to me read a book. And when he began to cry a few of his classmates patted his little shoulders in a show of support. I don’t know if I’ve ever been so moved inside the walls of a school.
To read entire essay.

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Laura PinheyMember

Christine Cissy White posted:
Laura Pinhey posted:
Wonderful essay. As I have probably said on this site before, I don't think we do children any favors by trying to shield them from darkness that most of them know is there (some more so and at younger ages than others) -- we have to help them navigate it.
<snip>
And for a writer, this is fodder for the mill. Thank you for posting this, Cissy.
Laura:
You are a beautiful writer. That was post-worthy! I'm glad this article got you thinking, writing and sharing. And it's also a reminder that a book can speak so powerfully to our hearts at any age and stage, even, as you say, decades later. That's such a gift to get, isn't it? You always do such a great job of capturing the dangers of silence which are so hard to articulate but so palpable and present for children and adults who have lived with that strange suffocatingness (o.k., that's not even a word...). Thank you for thoughts and insights! Cis

Thank you, Cissy, for your kind words. And for coining a new word, "suffocatingness" .

1/10/187:20 AM

Christine Cissy WhiteIt's not trauma-informed unless it's informed by trauma survivors.

Laura Pinhey posted:
Wonderful essay. As I have probably said on this site before, I don't think we do children any favors by trying to shield them from darkness that most of them know is there (some more so and at younger ages than others) -- we have to help them navigate it. That's easy for me to say, because I neither have nor work with children, so I don't have to toe that line of trying to give a child as carefree a childhood as possible while still teaching them how deal with inevitable loss and pain. While I understand the author's concern about his daughter's loss of innocence at watching her mother respond to bad news, I also think how fortunate his daughter is to witness her parents express sadness -- by crying, no less -- and to have parents who seem ready and able to offer her the support she needs to get through difficult times. To me, that's what matters most, and it's the absence of that loving support that can be quite damaging, NOT exposure to "the darkness".
For children with ACEs, many of them are living in the darkness. To pretend it's not there, to refuse to acknowledge it, seems an insult to their intelligence. From personal experience, it can even cause a child to question their own senses and judgment, a la The Emperor's New Clothes. And that "heavy" illustration in the author's book? That's a scene from my childhood, take away the piano and replace the empty Old Fashioned glass with a bottle of Jim Beam. If I'd have come across a children's book with such an illustration, I'd have been shocked, thrilled, and comforted in recognizing my own experience in a book (many thanks to the librarian who introduced me to A Tree Grows in Brooklyn by Betty Smith, for despite the gulf of fifty years between its publication and my childhood, it made me feel less alone). As for children who can't relate to such a scene, I'd suspect they'd be curious what it was about, but with an adult to explain the scene, most would feel compassion for the boy in the picture, much as the children who comfortingly patted the shoulders of the boy who was reminded by the author's book of his deceased grandmother.
And for a writer, this is fodder for the mill. Thank you for posting this, Cissy.

Laura:

You are a beautiful writer. That was post-worthy! I'm glad this article got you thinking, writing and sharing. And it's also a reminder that a book can speak so powerfully to our hearts at any age and stage, even, as you say, decades later. That's such a gift to get, isn't it? You always do such a great job of capturing the dangers of silence which are so hard to articulate but so palpable and present for children and adults who have lived with that strange suffocatingness (o.k., that's not even a word...). Thank you for thoughts and insights! Cis

1/9/182:46 PM

Laura PinheyMember

Wonderful essay. As I have probably said on this site before, I don't think we do children any favors by trying to shield them from darkness that most of them know is there (some more so and at younger ages than others) -- we have to help them navigate it. That's easy for me to say, because I neither have nor work with children, so I don't have to toe that line of trying to give a child as carefree a childhood as possible while still teaching them how deal with inevitable loss and pain. While I understand the author's concern about his daughter's loss of innocence at watching her mother respond to bad news, I also think how fortunate his daughter is to witness her parents express sadness -- by crying, no less -- and to have parents who seem ready and able to offer her the support she needs to get through difficult times. To me, that's what matters most, and it's the absence of that loving support that can be quite damaging, NOT exposure to "the darkness".

For children with ACEs, many of them are living in the darkness. To pretend it's not there, to refuse to acknowledge it, seems an insult to their intelligence. From personal experience, it can even cause a child to question their own senses and judgment, a la The Emperor's New Clothes. And that "heavy" illustration in the author's book? That's a scene from my childhood, take away the piano and replace the empty Old Fashioned glass with a bottle of Jim Beam. If I'd have come across a children's book with such an illustration, I'd have been shocked, thrilled, and comforted in recognizing my own experience in a book (many thanks to the librarian who introduced me to A Tree Grows in Brooklyn by Betty Smith, for despite the gulf of fifty years between its publication and my childhood, it made me feel less alone). As for children who can't relate to such a scene, I'd suspect they'd be curious what it was about, but with an adult to explain the scene, most would feel compassion for the boy in the picture, much as the children who comfortingly patted the shoulders of the boy who was reminded by the author's book of his deceased grandmother.

And for a writer, this is fodder for the mill. Thank you for posting this, Cissy.

1/9/188:31 AM