Irrational Fears

Kids have irrational fears.  That's one of the things that endears them to adults.  Whether it's Billy's fear of remote controls or Suzy's refusal to step foot in the bathroom because of her firm belief that wolves live in the vanity, we adults respond with an "awww" (and most likely a laugh because, let's be honest, kids are morons).

When I was Daughter's age (almost 2), I was terrified of Kiss.  I eventually came around.  (Hell, I even went to see Ace Frehley in concert last night.)  Of course, all my parents had to say was that Kiss were just guys with paint on their faces.  That's what I told Daughter, and she loves watching Kiss videos.  But this post isn't about why I'm a better parent than my parents.  It's about fear.

Take Daughter.  We went to a nature museum last month, and there was this 12-foot-tall stuffed (as in by a taxidermist, not a toy) polar bear standing on his hind legs with his arms outstretched, Frankenstein style.  Daughter was petrified.  She wouldn't go near it.  That's not irrational in my book, since until that point, the only polar bears she had seen were alive and swimming at the zoo.  This stuffed polar bear was gigantic and was showing its giant, sharp teeth.  If it were alive (and I don't think Daughter understands that it isn't), it would surely devour all of us -- Daughter first, no doubt, since she's slower than Jester or me.

And then there's what she told me yesterday morning when I got her out of bed:

Me:  How'd you sleep?

Daughter:  Uh, I kind of afraid.

Me:  What are you afraid of?

Daughter:  The armadillos.

We live in Chicago.  Armadillos have been wholly and unquestionably absent from Daughter's life.  Outside of Go Diego Go, I pretty sure she has never even seen an armadillo.  Also, the inclusion of the word "the" implies that she is not afraid of armadillos in general, but some specific armadillos.  Who are these armadillos?  When and where do they intimidate her?  Do they have leprosy?  If so, then maybe her fear isn't so irrational after all.  I guess I can just put Gene Simmons face paint on the next armadillo I see.