We had lunch with friends in Houston last weekend and were discussing the future preschool of S, who is Z's age and headed there soon. Her mother, Monica, described a favorite ritual in the pre-K class whereby the children take daily turns making up a story for the class, which they write down and then re-enact in the afternoon.

It's a lovely idea, but Z's stream-of-consciousness tendencies would have me on the edge of my seat. She just drew me a picture of a caterpillar with eleven vaginas, is fond of drawing pictures of her elders with all of their appropriate parts, and it is not uncommon for her to introduce an air of mystery or finality to a soliloquy by invoking death and/or copious bleeding. We have no problem with such narratives in our own home (indeed, we actively choose not to taboo-ify such talk) but I'd be curious to hear from teachers out there who can tell me how they'd handle such fantasies in a classroom of preschoolers.

Does this kind of talk from a young child bother you? It's the real violence that goes on that I find difficult to discuss. Driving home with Z last week the following exchange occurred that gently broke my heart.

Z: They just said they cut somebody in half.
Me: What? Cut what?
Z: On the radio. They said they cut somebody in half.
Me (Realizing she is talking about the NPR newscast): Oh, Georgia isn't a person - it's a country. A place. They said the Russians cut Georgia in half - they meant the country. What they meant is that the Russians went in there and took over a city in the middle of the country, and so people couldn't get from one part of the country to the other, so the country is sort of cut in half. They blocked the way across.
Z: Who did?
Me: The Russians. Soldiers.
Z: What's a soldier?
Me (Getting nervous): Well... It's a person with a gun who goes with other people to, um, fight.
Z: Like, shooting?
Me: Sometimes.
Z: In that city?
Me: Yes. Some of the people left the city, but some of them stayed to fight.
Z: Why?
Me: Well... they don't want to leave their homes.
Z: So they fight?
Me: Some of them.
Z: And, like, the people get shooted?
Me: Yes, sometimes they get shot.
Z: And killed?
Me: Some. Yes. (Lamely.) But some of them get away.
Z: Oh. (Pause.) What can we do?
Me (Sighing): Nothing, I think.