La primera vegada que em vaig fixar en Khalid va fer que em mirés el rellotge (eren les 7,45 del matí). Eren les primeres setmanes d'aquesta tardor i encara no havia arribat el fred. El carrer era moll com cada matí. Khalid seia en un pedrís al davant d'un portal del Raval. Als seus peus tenia una mena de motxilla de color gris que feia joc amb els colors de la samarreta i els pantalons.
Què feia un nen a aquelles hores del matí, i tot sol? Segur que ell tindria una resposta tranquila i natural: "espero que siguin les 9 per entrar al cole". Peró fins i tot per mi era massa d'hora. Aquell dia haviem quedat per anar a Lleida i abans de marxar havia de recollir una documentació que em vaig oblidar a la feina (ja explicaré la meva fascinació per la Catalunya "no barnametropolitana").
A l'andana de l'estació vaig veure poca gent (era més d'hora de l'habitual). El tren anava força buit i vaig poder seure i llegir des del primer moment. Els trens tenen una puntualitat excel.lent que no només agraeixo, sinó que vaig pregonant a amics i familiars sempre que puc (quan s'ho mereixen, s'han de reconèixer les qualitats d'alguns transports públics; en aquest cas els Catalans). Pel que fa a les sensacions, .... pel que fa a sensacions ho deixaré per demà o demà passat: us parlaré de ja fa uns quants anys: "Das Parfum, die Geschichte eines Mörders".
Pel que fa a l'article del dia, avui és del Times.
Després de la lectura no sé quina opinió tindreu, però pel que fa a mi no sabria dir si ha de ser als sis, set o deu anys, però el que cal mantenir és aquella il.lusió que podem veure als ulls dels nostres fills i filles quan passa el rei blanc, el rei ros i el rei negre.
Que per molts anys poguem continuar mantenint aquesta il.lusió.
TIMESONLINE
December 18, 2009
When do children work out that there's no Father Christmas? At age seven? Eight? Nine? Forty three? When they lay in the dark, eyes shut, pretending to be asleep and make the sobering discovery that "Santa" has exactly the same BO problem as Daddy?
Well, I fear it is younger than we think. Much younger. I have no hard evidence for this unhappy hunch - just the knowledge that four-year-olds now use the Internet more expertly than I do and that I know of a woman whose six year-old son recently claimed that he'd known Santa was a lie for OVER A YEAR. "It was your writing on all the gift labels", he shrugged as she clawed at her own face remembering that children should never ever be underestimated, particularly where presents are concerned. But his key line was yet to come. "I didn't tell you because I knew you'd be sad," he said, tenderly.
Oh God. Here's a weird and unnatural thought. What if children suss out the truth years before we think they do but play along so as to spare our feelings? So it's not us humouring them but them humouring us?
You can picture a group of six-year-olds sitting around a table in Costa Coffee. "Aah, my mum is SO cute. She gets all excited buying that sparkly reindeer food which I have to scatter in the garden when I'd really rather be inside watching Handy Manny. But it's nice to see their little faces, isn't it?"
Another will suck on his skinny latte and reply. "My Dad's adorable too. He actually leaves some soot around the fireplace so it looks like Santa has come down the chimney. Ha, ha. But what am I - stupid? We've got a chuffing gas fire. Still we should enjoy it while we can. They grow out of it so fast, don't they." The more I think about it, the more plausible it seems. Think how many times kids ask how it is physically possible for one man to visit every kid in the world in one night. Maybe they enjoy watching us squirm as we mutter ludicrous Paul Danielish things such as "Hey, that's magic!" and "Doh - because the reindeer are supersonic, obviously."
I now remember a moment last Christmas Day when I was clearing up the discarded wrapping paper and noticed my daughter, then four, eyeing me beadily. "Mummy, Father Christmas uses exactly the same wrapping paper as you got from Asda," she said.
Was she testing me? Was she suspicious? When she was making her Christmas list and I remarked that one thing she'd chosen "cost too much money", she looked at me suspiciously. "But you're not buying it, are you?", she said. "And you said the elves make all the toys with their bare hands." (Sadly I did)
I quickly backtracked and told her that every parent must send a cheque by Santa post, but I could swear she looked at me as one might look at a compulsive liar who claims to be carrying Elvis's love-child.Of course children have a vested interest in keeping schtum. We tell them that if they don't believe no presents will materialise, which is kind of a lite version of telling adults that if they don't believe in God they'll be chucked down to Hell. Maybe that's why so many people claim to be agnostic - refusing to say outright that they don't believe and hedging their bets just in case. They got their training from Christmases past.
There are
ways to ensure that your kids keep believing for as long as possible, which of course we all want deep down because it's another way of preserving their innocence. Besides psychiatrists have said the Father Christmas myth is good for children's moral development and gives parents an "ace up their sleeve". After all, as they say Santa's making a list, he's checking it twice, he wants to find out who's naughty or nice.
But if they do find you out don't be too depressed. One children's psychiatrist Dr Lynda Breen has said that children are actually very positive when they discover the truth. "It is actually parents who mourn the loss", she said.
She's right, of course. Which is why we'll all be creeping about on the landing and taking bites out of raw carrots to make it appear that Rudolph's been.
Christmas. A time for grown-ups to relive their childhoods.
