Inquisitiveness

Daniel was introduced to a new concept in a book he read recently – Insurance. Consequently, I’ve been subjected to some probing about the topic. I've always struggled a little trying to describe the intricacies of such things to little people, especially Daniel.

It's not that the subject is particularly intricate, so it might come across as sounding a little curious when I say I hesitate to launch into it, it's just that I know what Daniel's like. If there are intricacies or anomalies to be found around a concept that's new to him, he will find them. He won't ever settle for some half-baked explanation. My Mum will no doubt read this and feel a flush of remembrance (and relief that it's over) because that's exactly what I was like as a child. I wasn't called "I.Q." because I was intelligent, though I was happy to wear that badge proudly amongst the uninformed. It actually meant "Inquisitive Queen."

The thing is, Daniel's need to understand everything in great detail equates to my own desire to be able to tell him everything. Unless there is something to divulge that isn't age-appropriate, I'd like to be in a position to quench his thirst for knowledge. I'd like to be able to cover his elected topics to the degree it will do them enough justice to elicit a comprehensive understanding. It's a two-sided strategy. On the one hand, I feel a personal need to validate my own intelligence. On the other hand, I don't want to be backed into a corner by his, unable to bring forth a conclusive answer that will satisfy his inquisition.     

I still bear the emotional and intellectual scars from the suffering I endured as a child when my brother repeatedly called me an ignoramus. The first time he called me that, I remember going to get the dictionary from my Dad's desk so I could find out what the word meant. In a nutshell, it means a person who doesn't know anything; one who is unlearned. Because I've always had an inherent determination to know everything, that was a particularly cruel tease for me. I can forgive my brother for it now because I'm sure he never intended for it to be malicious or psychologically damaging - he probably didn't even know what the word meant himself, really. However, the fact I still remember it 35 years after the incident indicates to me that it lurks deep in my subconscious, and this I feel is what rises to the surface when I'm interrogated by Daniel. It's one thing my brother thinks I'm an ignoramus but quite another for my son to believe it. One of the great leverages we have as parents is that our children think we know everything, at least in their formative years.  

I must confess, I do have a tendency with my children to adopt a 'fob-off' approach around matters of technical curiosity if possible, which basically means if my husband is home. He's a lot more patient and able when it comes to transferring information associated with that realm. Besides, he just knows more about 'stuff' like that than I do, so his coverage of content is likely to be a lot more thorough than mine. His presence has been my saviour on many occasions in terms of my being able to retain the omniscient aura I present to my children. It's a good partnership really, because my strength lies in discussing more philosophical, ethereal matters. I happy to invest a great deal of time indulging in conversations of that nature with my children - there is never a wrong answer.

Anyway, back to the question on insurance, which had become pressing. We were midway through a long car trip at the time and Dad wasn't there so I couldn't apply the fob-off technique. I'd forgotten to take my iPod along for the trip too, so there was silence to be filled and no valid justification for me to not respond. Elliot was in the back seat urging the subject on, having suddenly acquired an equally passionate, albeit passively, desire to understand what this insurance thing was all about.

I decided to start with a simple approach. "OK, so we pay money every year to a company who 'insures' our car. That means if I crash the car, the same  company will give us enough money to replace it." I was pleased that it sounded quite simple and easily understood once I'd said it. "What if you die in the crash, who gets the money?" Daniel said. You see, this is why I don't like having these conversations with him. Because I didn't know the answer. Who does get the money if I die in a car that I've personally insured? I figured in the (brief) silence that followed, it would probably go to my 'estate' and be sorted out via my will... but that just brings forth a labyrinth of issues I wasn't really inclined to discuss with him. But do you think the probing stopped there? No, it did not. Elliot's contribution to the discussion was "Cool, we'd get to buy a new car," like he thought it was akin to a lotto win.

We talked about the other things that could be insured. We covered contents insurance, which left Elliot feeling very aggrieved about whether he'd be able to replace Cookie in the event of a fire. Cookie being his bed-time buddy since birth, who ranks No.1 on his list of all time favourite people - one above me. I told him that sadly some things could never be replaced and then spent some time trying to explain the difference between value and money.  Remember, I was probed - I didn't invite this grief upon him.  

Daniel hadn't let go of the loss of life issue. Thankfully I'd managed to swerve him away from the previous  vehicle insurance intricacy, only because there was a lot more yet to be understood around the main topic. So we moved on to life insurance. I continued, "That means if I die, Dad gets heaps of money, and if Dad dies, I get heaps of money." Naturally the question that followed was, "What if you both die?" Sigh. That brings us back to wills again, and whether they are of an appropriate age to inherit the money or not. I decided to skip the part about guardianship and all that jazz, and leaped to assuming they'd both be adults in the tragic event their parents died simultaneously. Lovely conversation we were having. Wish I'd brought my iPod. Daniel reached back to Elliot and gave him a high-five! "Awesome, we'll be rich!" They obviously have no idea we have no money because we're still paying off our house. Which begged the question for me - if we both die, does life insurance still apply and would they still get money? My mind was mush at that point.

I decided it was an appropriate time to ask a poignant question to get their minds (and mine) back on track. "Would you rather have a Mum and Dad alive, or heaps of money?" One of them answered, "Mum, don't be silly, of course you know the answer to that." The other one answered, "Depends really... how much money are we talking." I'm going to assume that was an attempt at humour.

Mum’s the Word:

What I'd really like to be able to do is insure my children. To ensure they'll live long and happy lives, and always remain delightfully inquisitive.