Yesterday we were driving home from a birthday party. It was nearly my children’s bathtime when we left. My three and a half year old sat in his car seat behind me and his brother beside him in his. Jonas talked constantly.
“He talks more than you” a close friend said when she came to visit shortly after Elias was born. I gave her a hard look, not sure, at first how she meant this, being a very talkative person myself.
“Mom, what is that building over there?” Jonas asks. And then, before I can answer, he moves on “why are those cars doing that”
‘What cars…” I try to ask him, but he continues.
“Mom, I think when I am old like you and Papi, that you and Papi will die.”
Silence.
“What made you think of that Jonas?”I ask.
“I just think that you and Papi will die when I am older.” He says.
“That’s true,” his father says, “one day we will die.”
“Papi, I’m hungry” he says.
“You can have a snack when we get home”, I say, and watch the car in front of us dodge a pothole, curious about how my son came to think about this on our drive home.
As we cross the bridge into West Philadelphia, Elias is asleep. I point out the recycling center on the right, “there’s the recycling place, Jonas, we’re almost home.”
“Okay” he says, “Why was that the recycling place, mom? “
