My youngest son loves to sing. He will sing almost anything, from commercial jingles to angsty Linkin Park. Today he stood in front of the refrigerator, rearranging the magnets, singing at the top of his lungs...
Five little monkeys swinging on a tree
Hey, Mr. Crocodile, can't catch me!
Along came Mr. Crocodile, quiet as can be
And snatched that monkey right out of the tree.
Four little monkeys swinging on a tree....
And so the song went on. Until there were no monkeys left to taunt the poor crocodile.
Is this how we teach our children to cope with life? We stand with our friends and stare danger in the face, taunting it until one of us falls victim to a classic blunder ("never start a land war in Asia"). Instead of learning from that mistake, we continue to plow ahead, until the crocodile consumes us all and there is no one left to wonder why swinging from the tree seemed like such a good idea to begin with.
Nursery rhymes are like this. They prey on death, disease, and phobias. Why was Jack jumping over the candle stick? Why did the spider sit down beside Little Miss Muffet? Does anyone feel sorry for the four and twenty blackbirds that got baked in a pie? And what is up with Humpty Dumpty?! Who sits on a wall? Especially someone who is friends with the king's horses and the king's men.
I could go on and on. From Little Red Riding Hood and her ill-advised, lonely walk in the woods to The Three Little Pigs and their architectural genius, and songs we sing on the playground about London's bridges falling and ring around the rosie, preying on literal historical fact in a sing-song, childlike manner. Death. Disease. Plague. Disaster. Fear. Pain. We teach our children these things are normal, these things are commonplace, these things are simply to be observed or ignored.
Never do the songs and stories tell us how to overcome these things.
So we swing from the trees. A bunch of monkeys with no purpose other than to follow in the footsteps of those who went before. Until the crocodile snatches us away and we no longer have to deal with life.
Five little monkeys swinging on a tree
Hey, Mr. Crocodile, can't catch me!
Along came Mr. Crocodile, quiet as can be
And snatched that monkey right out of the tree.
Four little monkeys swinging on a tree....
And so the song went on. Until there were no monkeys left to taunt the poor crocodile.
Is this how we teach our children to cope with life? We stand with our friends and stare danger in the face, taunting it until one of us falls victim to a classic blunder ("never start a land war in Asia"). Instead of learning from that mistake, we continue to plow ahead, until the crocodile consumes us all and there is no one left to wonder why swinging from the tree seemed like such a good idea to begin with.
Nursery rhymes are like this. They prey on death, disease, and phobias. Why was Jack jumping over the candle stick? Why did the spider sit down beside Little Miss Muffet? Does anyone feel sorry for the four and twenty blackbirds that got baked in a pie? And what is up with Humpty Dumpty?! Who sits on a wall? Especially someone who is friends with the king's horses and the king's men.
I could go on and on. From Little Red Riding Hood and her ill-advised, lonely walk in the woods to The Three Little Pigs and their architectural genius, and songs we sing on the playground about London's bridges falling and ring around the rosie, preying on literal historical fact in a sing-song, childlike manner. Death. Disease. Plague. Disaster. Fear. Pain. We teach our children these things are normal, these things are commonplace, these things are simply to be observed or ignored.
Never do the songs and stories tell us how to overcome these things.
So we swing from the trees. A bunch of monkeys with no purpose other than to follow in the footsteps of those who went before. Until the crocodile snatches us away and we no longer have to deal with life.
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