This past week, our country commemorated its day of independence. This, of course, means that just about every citizen sets off fireworks in celebration.
Loud, booming fireworks.
Perhaps you can guess where I am going with this. Choo-choo, my darling son, has decided he is terrified of those loud booms. Our neighbors have been setting them off for nearly two weeks now, almost every night. And every night, I have had to comfort my son.
He cries and trembles and squeezes me tight. I hold him and squeeze him and tell him it’s okay. I tell him he is safe. The fireworks won’t get him. They don’t want to get him.
While driving home one night, we happened upon several fireworks displays. Choo-choo was in total awe of the lights and colors. He never realized how beautiful it could be. He still just wasn’t sure about the noise.
I can’t say I blame him. I was never a big fan of fireworks, either. The booms always scare me, as I’m never prepared. And I hate when I’m so close that the ashes fall on me. Even as an adult, I often find myself near tears if I feel I am too close. I much prefer to be far, far away but still able to see.
However, I don’t want my son to have a life full of fear. So Diesel and I pointed out what Choo-choo liked about the fireworks and tried to skirt around the scary stuff. Though I did have to turn his fan up on high to drown out the sounds on the 4th, Choo-choo relaxed as the week progressed. By Thursday, he would merely say, “Those fireworks” to every boom. Then we’d go back to whatever we were doing.
I am so proud of him for learning about what he doesn’t understand and facing his fears. I’d like to think I played a part in that. And for the record, if he ever decides he wants to watch the fireworks in person, even up at the front, I will happily attend with him, though I might have to silently tell myself it’s okay.