We're on our vacation in the middle of the Canadian heartland, driving across an endless prairie, and my daughter speaks up from the back seat.
"We can't go to the ocean to swim."
"What is that, Kiddo," I ask.
"We can't go to the ocean to swim, because I would be afraid to go in the water. I'm afraid of sharks."
I'm nonplussed. We're not going to the ocean anytime soon; we're in Alberta, probably 500 miles from the closest salt water; and what did this stuff about sharks come from?
My son speaks up, "She's still afraid of Jaws."
It turns out that, while playing at a friend's house, my two older kids, nine years old and seven years old, watched Steven Spielberg's Jaws. My seven-year-old didn't make it all the way through the movie, but she was able to watch the terribly disturbing opening skinny dip/shark attack scene.
I didn't see that movie until I was probably 15 years old, and I was very disturbed, what can my poor little seven-year-old be thinking? This was the same movie that kept a whole nation away from the beach for at least a summer, and, in many people's cases, more. What can that poor little girl be thinking that she would randomly bring it up more than a week after watching the movie and more than 500 miles (oh wait it's Canada, 1000 kilometres) from the beach.
We are going to California to visit family next summer. I hope she's over it by then, because I'm planning on taking them to the beach.
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