Tonight, lying in bed with Elliot, I asked him to retrieve my phone from the adjoining bathroom.
“I’m scared,” he said. “You go.”
“Why?”, I asked.
“Because you’re so strong and brave.”
At first I was impressed that he knew the word “brave”.” He’s not even 5 yet. But then I realized what he said about me. And I remembered how I felt about my father when I was a little boy.
Elliot is afraid of ghosts and “bicodies” (coyotes), because I tell him we must always get Grendel inside the house before dark because the bicodies may get her. He knows bicodies do not bother grownups, but might be interested in small children.
Elliot always asks about bicodies, and I’ve written about them before in other entries in this diary. He asks about different toy weapons he has, if each one will kill or hurt bicodies: his wooden axe from the Renaissance Fair, various swords, the toy mace, kicking them in the nose, learning to be a ninja, knives, and many other related questions about the destruction or maiming of bicodies for self-preservation.
