Children are morbid. There’s no other word for it sometimes.
A little boy, Tamilbaradhi, was watching a student of mine painting a gate.
“Don’t touch the gate,” I warned him.
He nodded, knowingly, but seemed to expect me to say more.
“The beautiful, freshly painted gate will get spoilt,” I clarified.
Tamilbaradi frowned. That was not what he expected. “My hand will get stuck to it,” he said, eagerly.
Fresh oil paint, small child (about three years old) – I agreed. “Yes, your hand will get stuck to it.”
“And I will never be able to pull it away,” continued Tamilbaradi, happily.
I paused.
“And then, my hand will have to be cut off for me to be free!” he pronounced, delighted.
This from a three-year old child.
Children are morbid.
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