Happy Traumatization Day!

Trauma: 1 a: an injury (as a wound) to living tissue caused by an extrinsic agent b: a disordered psychic or behavioral state resulting from severe mental or emotional stress or physical injury c: an emotional upset. Merriam-Webster’s Online

Before anything, let me say that 1) I did not take this picture; 2) I don’t know who did, except that 3) it appears to be an Australian website; and 4) I totally indirectly stole this through Cute Overload.

While I was there, I went to the comments sections just to jot a note how great this (series of) photos is and how wonderfully appropriate this would be here in South Florida, where gators and crocs grab dogs off the banks of golf course water hazards. As I scroll down the previous comments, one fairly regular commenter says, “I don’t want to be a Nuff, but I’m just concerned that some small child is going to see that and become a little traumatized.” You’re kidding, right?

Anyway, what’s a “Nuff”? From context, I gather that a Nuff is some sort of naysayer, right? But I digress.

Watching your house burn down and being forced to sleep in a football stadium. That’s trauma. Watching your house come apart around you in a hurricane while you’re huddled under a mattress for protection and then being forced to sleep in a football stadium. That’s trauma. Traumatized. By a beagle in a croc suit. Please.

I understand the instinct to protect children from all the boo-boos of life, but you know what? You can’t. They watch TV, they surf the net, they play video games, they walk down the street and sometimes have to duck bullets. And they see drugs and violence and homelessness and blood. Even when you think you’re protecting them, they see. “Little pitchers have big ears.” Times have changed and instantaneous world-wide communications exposes kids to stuff that maybe we, but more likely our parents, were never exposed to.

All you can do is warn them. Don’t take candy from a stranger. Don’t wander away from the group. Don’t run with scissors. But see, you’re not doing that anymore. You’re afraid that the warnings will traumatize your tender tiny tots. You’re substituting over-protection for the warnings. And they don’t learn anything. They don’t hear the little warning voice sounding in the backs of their minds when they think that maybe they’ll just take a little stroll in those unfamiliar woods in the middle of supper while camping with the Scouts or the family; or when the strange man in the park says his puppy ran away and can you help him find the little scamp and he went that way. They don’t hear the little voice because it’s your voice, and you never said anything. The news is full of ’em.

I’m not saying that everyone needs firsthand knowledge that the stove is hot, but there are so many real traumas in the world today that justify the definition, and you’re afraid a beagle in a croc suit is going to scar little Jessica forever? See, the only thing that bothers me when I look at this picture is: what if he wants to pee?

So, while you’re protecting The Youth Of Today from, and hopefully warning them about, the dangers of the world (G-d forbid, not in a traumatic way, please!), teach ’em about irony and comedy. No one gets the punchline anymore.