S wanted to know why I put the US flag up today, and why the neighbors were flying theirs. I wasn't sure what to tell her. I opted for a vague outline: five years ago, some people did some bad things that hurt a lot of other people way over on the other side of the country. I said we were remembering what happened, and thinking about the people who lost loved ones that day. I said it was a show of support.
Part of me wanted to say nothing at all about any of it, because it was so outside her experience, and I didn't want to scare her, or suggest that all was not well with the world. Besides, she was preoccupied by getting ready to go to a new gymnastics class with other people she didn't know. 9/11 was not on her mind.
At the same time, I wanted to stop everything, sit her down, and tell her how violence breeds violence, and that sometimes leaders whose office you respect can make decisions that you don't agree with.
But last night I had a dream about the rapture. S and I found ourselves floating, flying a little above ground while other things - crazy things, like fish and dolphins and ships and planes - fell from the sky. Some people were shooting heavenward, some were running in panic. I was trying to figure out what was happening, and what we should do - pray? find the rest of the family? try to stay? try to leave more quickly? - when I was awoken by S coming into our room out of the blue because she was scared and couldn't sleep.
"I'm sorry," I explained to her, knowing as I got up that my alarm was due to go off any minute anyway. "I had a dream and you were in it, so I bet that kept you from sleeping." At 3:40am, this made perfect sense to me.
"I dreamt we were flying," I told her, tucking her back in after a trip to the bathroom and the obligatory sip of water. What do we tell our children? What do we keep from them?
"We were flying," I said, "and it was really cool."
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