Conversations with the Young Viking

Venetian/Viking?crusader blood doesn't lie

My six year-old son, has demonstrated a preference for long-term thinking from an early age. When his sisters would devour any treat given on the spot, at age three, he would already ask if he can save part of his for later. Which he did religiously, eating the rest of it the next day.

Which inevitably brought on the typical squealing “gimmes” of “unfairness” from his short-time preference female siblings, who like a boat-load of illegal immigrants would demand double rations of what they had already scoffed, with he apparent memory of goldfish.

Needles to say, in Kurglandia this attitude was met with the equivalent of live fire round from the border patrol. Soon enough, the sisters of gimme realised they would need to revert to mere silent seething, or, in the case of the smarter one, sidling up to her brother and sweetly asking him if he would oh so kindly give her a little piece of (which he usually, but not always, did, and a small one at that).

I have no doubt that failing some tragedy that boy will be surrounded by female attention when he grows up; despite having the social manners approximating those of a rabid bull with an enjoyment for charging at flags. Red, green, yellow, flags in general, and with or without Matador and no hesitation to ram the matador anyway even absent flag. Thing is though, he absolutely does not mind the quasi-ostracism that goes with it, and he’s perfectly capable of making fast friends with other kids when it suits him. I watch from afar, shaking my head at the inevitability of genetics.

But this is just by way of introduction. At times. He acts so barbarically that one would be forgiven for thinking he might be a bit retarded. Including me. However, it is clear from his questions at what I call our “philosophy time” that he’s far from unintelligent. He started about age 3, when bedtime came, while his sisters enjoyed a story or something along those lines, he would talk to me about all sorts of disparate topics with rather profound questions. Astronomy, theology, life in general, friendship, love, he would delve into topics most adults shy away from. He asked about God, Jesus and how it all works repeatedly. He asks me to take him to Church regularly. Which is you see the level of “Christian charity” he exhibits daily, you would think might be a ruse to burn down the tabernacle. But again… I can hardly judge the boy. He does have my DNA in there, after all.

The other day, when it was just the two of us in the car (another philosophy time), completely unprompted, he said:

“Dad, when I die I am going to ask God where He comes from.”

Me: “Uh… okay…” And thinking: What. The. Fuck?!?!? He’s six!

YV: “Because we can’t ask Him while we’re alive. He doesn’t tell us. But after we die we get to see Him, and I am going to ask Him where He comes from. Because I want to know.”

Now, keep in mind, I have not had any kind of theological conversation where I told him what I think happens after we die, never brought up the origin of God, etc.

YV: “ Because we can’t know where God comes from when we’re alive, right dad?”

Me: “Uh… yeah…right. I mean… I think He was just always there… but yeah, I don’t know.”

YV: (calm and confident, looking back out the window): “Well, I’m going to ask Him.”

Me: “Okay son. That’s a good question. I’m Curious to know the answer too.”

Except in a half-century of time I have on him, the question never came up for me. I just accepted it as a given from observation of reality at some point, but I never seriously pondered the question.

Anyway, this is not the story I wanted to tell you. This is just preamble, because like my daughter exhibited Venetian style thinking in one of our car journeys, so did he last night.

We went to get pizzas for the family and he came with me and as usual we started philosophising because he has endless questions about all sorts of unlikely topics. I forget how we got to the topic, but it went like this:

YV: “So intelligence is important.” (A statement, not a question)

Me: “Yes, it is, but more important is your character. To be honest with yourself is the most important thing.”

YV: “What do you mean? People lie to themselves?”

Me: “Unfortunately yes, son. All the time. Some people are so crazy they lie to themselves that they are a girl when they are a boy, or that they are a dog or something else.”

YV: “They are not lying, though. They know. They are pretending.”

Me: (out of the mouths of babes and all that) “Yes, you’re right. But they will lie to themselves about other stuff, like thinking that they are a good person when they are not really, or thinking they are honest when they are liars, and so on.”

YV: “But why do they do that?”

Me: “A lot of people are pretty stupid, son.”

YV: “No. They’re not pretty stupid. They are stupid, stupid.”

I was left kind of speechless, and for a second started to think maybe he means pretty…as in… I didn’t get to finish the thought…

YV: “I don’t mean pretty like… you know… beautiful. I mean pretty like when you mean…”

Me: “sort of?”

YV: “Yes. Like that.”

Me: (reflecting a few seconds) “Well… I can’t argue there son, you have it right.”

YV: (smiling with that cheeky smile he knows is a partial troll) “Is it because I’m intelligent dad?”

Me: (Laughing) “Yes son, you sure are.”

And he is. Regardless of the fact some throwback gene to raiding Vikings more often than I’d like makes him behave like a berserker on hallucinogenics.

Still.

His ability to cut to the direct point, ignoring all social conventions, is definitely a trait that like the siren song we people of the Sea have within, rises from the waters of the Serenissima.