Last week, while we were at my parents home in the UK, Tommy accidentally saw the beginning of a news report about a soldier whose leg had been blown apart. I managed to switch the telly off before he saw any more of it but he had seen enough to ask questions.
“Mummy, I don’t want to be a soldier because I don’t want my leg to be all in blood.”
“Well, I’m very relieved. I don’t think I would want you to be a soldier either.”
“I will be a doctor and make the soldiers better. And all the other people. And all the other legs in blood.”
“That’s a good idea Tommy.” (I secretly rubbed my hands in glee – my son, a doctor!)
“But Mummy, if I am a doctor, I will have to look at lots of legs all in blood. And more blood. I don’t like it.”
“Well, you don’t have to be a doctor” (my hopes violently dashed to smithereens).
He looked thoughtful. “Mummy, I will be a facteur. I mean a postman.”
“No Mummy, I forgot, I want to be a gold statue maker. I will make gold statues and buy money with them.”
“Do you mean people will pay you money for your gold statues?”
“And what will you do with the money?”
“I will buy things for me. Like shelves. And lights. Some food.”
My son’s mind may have been infiltrated by my home improvement plans.
“So… when you grow up, you’ll make gold statues to get money to buy, amongst other things, statues?”
I’m not sure whether Tommy will be a famous sculptor with a huge art collection or a weird philosophy teacher who specialises in circular logic, but I am glad he doesn’t want to do a job that involves his leg being all in blood.