Sunday Scribblings (Dragon): I Am Concerned

I am concerned, to say the least.

I have raised five children in this household. All of them have attended Catholic school. All of them have served at the altar of the Lord (and hopefully one of them will partake in transubstantiation). All of them say their prayers before bedtime. Through these fifteen years – Christian, the oldest, is a sophomore at Notre Dame – the children have been tops in their respective classes and overall outstanding citizens. I am truly proud of them.

The sixth child, George, is another matter. Not to say I’m not proud of him. At the age of four, it is unreasonable to judge him. He says his prayers with the other children. He plays well with them. He is as smart as – if not smarter than – they were at the same age. In fact, I have some concerns that he is more advanced, and I’m not sure what to do about it.

You see, neither my husband nor I nor any of the kids have read The Lord of the Rings. We know nothing of elves. Nothing of dwarves. Nothing of witches and wizards. None of us have read a Harry Potter book, and to my knowledge, no one of the children has seen a Harry Potter movie. Being rather orthodox Catholics, we don’t subscribe to magic and other ridiculous fantasies. If you want to see magic, listen to the Lord pierce your heart. Watch as Jesus answers your every need.

Right, the youngest. Well, I have home schooled all of my children. I do so up through the fifth grade, at which point I think it is important that they are exposed to other children. But that’s a moot point when it comes to the youngest. He hasn’t even formally started school yet. I do have him beginning to read, of course. Not to mention he can do more than basic math. As I said, he is remarkably advanced for his age.

All of the children have had imaginary friends. Except Molly. She was simply too pragmatic for such things. Rachel had a friend named Susan, whom she just adored. Mark took some direction from his talking dog, Harry. And Daniel, well, he had the best imaginary friend, a pet lion that he named Aslan.

George’s imaginary friend is a dragon.

The irony is not lost on me. My husband thinks it harmless and somewhat funny. I do not. The depiction of the dragon in Revelation is of a monster, of the evil one himself. And St. George – according to the altogether fanciful legend, which I’m ashamed to say the Catholic Church has not entirely denounced – slew a dragon. In other words, dragons are not meant to be friends but foes. I therefore fear for my child’s existence.

What’s worse is that George describes the dragon to me in detail. It is a pale blue with two horns atop its head (God help us). It is not a full grown dragon (or else, he says, it wouldn’t fit in the house); it’s a smaller dragon of perhaps seven feet in height. He can ‘spit’ fire if he chooses but finds it to be a bad habit that most dragons (meaning there are more of them) have mostly avoided. To go with his blue scales, he has ice-blue eyes that pierce the souls of those who are evil. That’s when George springs the fact that this is a good dragon.

I can’t remember reading to him about St. George and the Dragon. Nor can my husband. In fact, there are no books about that legend in this house. I’ve asked the other children, and only Christian could tell me that St. George slew a dragon, but he could give me no other reference to that silly legend.

How does George know of dragons, then? And how do I convince him to find another imaginary friend? In the meantime, I must listen to him talk about how noble and chivalrous the dragon is. How he helps George to know who to trust. Out of a four year old’s mouth? This dragon supposedly tells George to beware other dragons who are interested only in riches; their minds are tormented (he actually used the word tormented) by the desire to horde treasure. It is, the dragon says, one of their few weaknesses. Since we aren’t rich, George tells me, we don’t have to worry about this particular dragon. Even though he is a good dragon, George says, he can still be tempted.

My husband and the children say this will pass. I hope so. God forbid he shares his stories accidentally with our friends and family. What will we say? That it’s a phase? I know how they think. It will be a scandal. I don’t know how I’ll ever live it down. Not to mention he’ll be scarred for life.

And so, you can see why I’m concerned.