Thursday night last week, as we were heading up for bed, my daughter asked me if I was going to die. I was a little surprised, but I said yes, eventually. Everybody dies. She wanted to know if she was going to die too, and I told her yes, eventually she would die too. Then wanted to know when this was going to happen. I said, it can happen any time, even tomorrow, but most likely it would not happen for many years.
This obviously really bothered her. She told me that she didn't want me to die. That she would miss me, which I found touching.
Then she started asking me about people getting shot. I guess in her mind, people only got shot with arrows, so I clarified that actually usually they got shot with bullets. Didn't she know that from all the lockdown drills they had at her school? She... had not realized that was what the lockdown drills were for. It seems they do the drills, but don't tell the children why? Or maybe they did tell them why, and it didn't register because the vocabulary was foreign to her. In any case, now she knows about guns and bullets and getting shot and why we have lockdown drills at our schools.
She wanted to know whether a man was going to climb in my window and shoot me in the night. I told her it wasn't impossible, but it was very unlikely.
I was relieved when I woke up the next morning and she hadn't come to me in the night with a nightmare. When I got home post-call the next day, feeling guilty about our conversation, I agreed to come to her school to talk to her class about anesthesia.
Compared to this, the sex talk is going to be nothing.