There is always a programme about 9/11 this time of year. The sheer sound of the programme has me sweating and panicky.
Was watching one this evening, not wanting to at all, but drawn inevitably to the bloody awfulness of it, and the dreadful knowledge of what is about to happen.
Youngest came into the room. I kept it on, thinking that he would not get it. That he would wander out again. He did neither. At that point in the programme it was all dust and people running about. Nothing to worry his little mind. Or so I thought. After a few minutes, five at the most, I turned the telly off and announced that it was bath time.
Youngest looked downcast.
'What's up?' I asked him.
'Mummy, why did you have to watch that thing?' he asked, tears starting in his eyes.
'What thing?' I was a little puzzled as to which programme, as it hadn't been long since we had turned X-Factor firmly Off.
'THAT thing,' he replied, looking hard at the telly. 'With those people. Now you have made my feelings bad.'
Oh, the poor mite.
'Come over here for a cuddle,' I cajoled, and budged up for him to cuddle up close.
'What bad feeling?'
'I don't know,' he answered.
We went through a few Bad Feelings, and came up trumps with Scared.
The very last thing I want to create in my darling children is anxiety and fear.
But that bloody programme did the job and instilled that insipid and fearful thing. That Mummy can't make the bad people go away. That awful things happen and we can't stop them.
And he's only six.
What an idiot I was to think that he wouldn't Get It. Of COURSE he will. He gets just about everything else.
Will be ultra diligent now, and watch stuff that he will be utterly safe with. It's a long time being a grown up. And such a short time to be a child.
God love him.