Owen is a very inquisitive child. He always has been. Even before he could talk. He doesn't let unknown words sneak by without definition. He wants to know how things work, how they are made, what's in things and where stuff comes from. And he's always thinking on things and making connections to other things. I love this about him and I try to nurture and encourage it.
The other day in the car he was talking about parents and grandparents. And he said, "Grandpa & grandpa are daddy's parents." "Yes," I replied, "they are." And we talked about what their names were and why he calls them Grandpa & Grandpa. (Which I think is so cute. He just can't seem to get the grandma concept down!) Then he asked me who my parents were. And I replied, "Mimi is my parent. She is my mom and your grandma." And then the question I knew, someday, would come. "Who is your dad?" So I told Owen my father's name is Tom. (I don't refer to him as my dad, because in my mind he's not.) And then Owen asked, "Where is he?" And I replied, "I don't know." To which he asked, "Why don't you know." So I told him my father left when I was a baby. It was a brief conversation but one I know Owen spent some time thinking about and storing it for later. That's what he does. I've learned to mostly only answer the questions I'm asked because more information than what is asked is often confusing and leads to more questions that I didn't necessarily want to answer!
I know some day this will come up again. And I know I can't change the circumstances that created how things are, but I'm the one left to answer Owen's questions. And I don't have the answers. I may never have the answers. Which is a hard thing to accept as a parent. Even when the question is as seemingly simple as, "Who are your parents."
The other day in the car he was talking about parents and grandparents. And he said, "Grandpa & grandpa are daddy's parents." "Yes," I replied, "they are." And we talked about what their names were and why he calls them Grandpa & Grandpa. (Which I think is so cute. He just can't seem to get the grandma concept down!) Then he asked me who my parents were. And I replied, "Mimi is my parent. She is my mom and your grandma." And then the question I knew, someday, would come. "Who is your dad?" So I told Owen my father's name is Tom. (I don't refer to him as my dad, because in my mind he's not.) And then Owen asked, "Where is he?" And I replied, "I don't know." To which he asked, "Why don't you know." So I told him my father left when I was a baby. It was a brief conversation but one I know Owen spent some time thinking about and storing it for later. That's what he does. I've learned to mostly only answer the questions I'm asked because more information than what is asked is often confusing and leads to more questions that I didn't necessarily want to answer!
I know some day this will come up again. And I know I can't change the circumstances that created how things are, but I'm the one left to answer Owen's questions. And I don't have the answers. I may never have the answers. Which is a hard thing to accept as a parent. Even when the question is as seemingly simple as, "Who are your parents."