My son drew a monster
When I asked Leo why he wouldn't sleep alone tonight, he gave me his usual answers: it's too dark, I'm lonely, I'm thirsty, and on and on. I did my best to address his concerns. I told him he could keep the night light on, he could have his stuffed Spider-Man doll to abate the loneliness, and I'd leave an extra water bottle for him just in case.
As I listed off the solutions to his concerns I watched his little face and knew something was off. He wasn't listening. His eyes looked past me, out the window and into the black night. I spun around and examined outside to see what he was looking at. I saw the outdoor playset with the swing and slide he hadn't used in months. The swing gave off faint squeaks in the breeze. It seemed to be moving in slow motion. Next to it was the sandpit hosting a tipped-over yellow toy bulldozer beside a purple bucket barely visible in the dim light.
"Leo," I said, "what is it? I have some work to do” That wasn't true. A few nights a week I have some emails to send, but not tonight. I didn't want to deal with this.
His eyes met mine. "I'm afraid of the monster."
I tried to sound like a caring father. "What monster?"
"The one with spaghetti arms and big teeth. And he grabs me and he wants to eat me."
Spaghetti arms. Why did that sound familiar?
“What else does he look like?” Something about that description made my skin feel itchy.
He stopped talking and grabbed a piece of paper and his colored pencils. Leo was a terrific artist for a four-year-old. He drew with certainty. The hollow look in his face was gone. His hand moved wildly across the page in big sweeping movements, then small, detailed vibrations.
He grabbed more pencils, dragging the tips back and forth across the page. He gripped the pencil so hard the pencil started to crack.
As the details of the picture came to light I got a sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach. This thing he drew, a grotesque, alien physique – green skin splattered with yellow patches across the torso, with purple spines coming out of its back. It had a tiny insectoid head with beady red eyes and a gaping maw for a mouth. The creature’s arms were twisted round and round, going over and under themselves, almost three dimensional. The way they were drawn made me feel like they were going to come out of the page and grab me, too.
I looked back at him and understood the fear in his eyes. He saw the same fear in my eyes.
Being a father is a rewarding journey, but often a challenging one. How could I tell my son that this was the same monster that used to haunt my dreams? And how could I tell him that he would have to sleep alone?