Good Reads for Difficult Conversations

As I was pondering topics for this blog post and upcoming ones, it struck me that there was again a common theme: difficult conversations. From a Real Simple article on shared household work, to a recent conversation with my cousin about the future of elderly relatives, to the conversations with my daughter after reading the books below, difficult conversations seem to be cropping up everywhere.

I seem to fall somewhere mid-way between addressing them head-on and running in the other direction. It's especially challenging to have these conversations with those closest to us because everything carries such emotional significance--I guess that's why they're difficult. I have a suspicion, though, that engaging in difficult conversations, with some modicum of calm, is probably teaching our kids an important lesson. Nevertheless, I sometimes shy away from these conversations with my kids. Innocence lasts for such a short time, and it is so hard to explain to my sweet, dimpled daughter what something like "war" or "a bomb" means. She's just recently gotten over her fear of thunder. And yet...

And yet, when is the right time to tell her? How and when do we explain that terrible things happen to innocent and kind people? I think books can offer one way. Humans often frame events--even unthinkable ones--into stories that help them make sense of these events and create meaning from them. Perhaps it is no different for children.

The two books below address serious and timely topics, but are written for children. One addresses the issue of illegal border crossing to flee a war-torn country. The other tells the story of a child who is a double-amputee. They promise to engage deeply, perhaps in ways that--for parents--may be scary, but which ultimately provide an opportunity for truth-telling.

Rescue and Jessica: A Life-Changing Friendship

Jessica Kensky's story Rescue and Jessica: A Life-Changing Friendship chronicles two characters, a girl named Jessica and a support-dog named Rescue, whose life aspirations are changed in ways they can't control. Rescue, who aspires to be a seeing-eye dog, is told he doesn't make the cut, and is trained as a therapy dog instead. Jessica loses first one leg and then another due to illness. Eventually, both bring comfort and companionship to one another. There's enough darkness in this story to make it believable, but enough lightness to make it, ultimately, a happy ending.

Difficult conversation #1: My daughter, who is intrigued by anything medical, has asked some uncomfortable questions about how someone's legs might be removed. It feels harsh to talk to a four-year-old about scalpels and saws. After we discuss this, I wonder if she'll have nightmares. But she doesn't. Instead she plays games with her grandfather in which she captures him and threatens to sever his limbs. I've created a monster.

Difficult conversation #2: Kensky's story is based on her own life, which included suffering limb loss in the Boston Marathon bombings (A happy spoiler alert: She met her husband, also a victim, through this experience). Her biography explains this context and after reading it to my daughter -- No, I didn't know what I was getting into -- we talked about bombs and what they do and what terrorists are. We talked about how violence isn't the way to solve problems, and when violence is used to solve problems, people get hurt. 

The Journey

The Journey, by Francesca Sanna, seems particularly relevant today, despite its being written in 2016. What stands out most to me about this book, though, is the amazing artwork. In just one of many strong examples, the opening pages show a seaside scene. The water is a rippling black sea and the narration describes family outings to the beach. By the next page, the black sea has grown claw-like hands that destroy the city scene, representing the war that has decimated the narrators' place of origin.

Like many immigrants, the mother and children fleeing in this story are doing so illegally, and the depictions of their journey echo much of the real-life coverage of immigrants' perilous journeys. Sanna's inspiration for this book came from working as an aid worker to refugees in Italy. It is an amalgam of the many stories she heard doing this work. The book is haunting, relatable to any parent whose ever put on a brave face for his or her children, and beautiful. 

Difficult conversation #3: "What is war?" When I have to tell my daughter what war is, the most palpable feeling I have is fear. Is it just me, or does it feel like war isn't that far away anymore? (If you're a military family, it probably never did). As Americans, we've been fortunate to never experience another country taking over ours. I think about this mother in The Journey and her exhausted declaration, "We are lucky to still be together," and the prospect of losing a child or being separated from one because of a massive conflict fills me with such panic it stops my words.

But then I continue: War is when people fight and use big weapons and hurt each other because they think it will solve problems."

"Do people die?"

"Yes people die."

Difficult conversation #4: She wants to talk some more about bombs

Hard for Whom

Ultimately, I think, these conversations are most difficult for me. My daughter seems mostly unfazed by them, but I know that somewhere they have entered her consciousness. Like most of parenting, I'm working off-script, but I think I'm heading in the right direction--at least for me. Better to slowly introduce these concepts than have her one day confronted with them, completely unaware. I can't prevent life from eroding my daughter's innocence, but I (with the help of some children's book authors) can help her prepare.

How do you deal with difficult conversations? Leave a comment below.

“We are a participant in the Amazon Services LLC Associates Program, an affiliate advertising program designed to provide a means for us to earn fees by linking to Amazon.com and affiliated sites.”