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I'm not sure whether it comes under the category of norms and values, but in my heart of hearts I have looked forward for many years to being recruited as a well-paid adviser to the Dutch government. Admittedly I can't really pretend that I have all the answers, but I have found out that leaving the insane and the ideologically driven out of the equation, none of the other advisers do either, so that I can find comfort in the thought that if fate singled me out, only my competitors would hold me responsible. And so I took the plunge and engaged in debate with a minor. It happened in the course of a Saint Nicholas party attended by adults and by children who had stopped believing, even though they couldn't help looking somewhat upset when at the end of his performance Saint Nicholas took off his mitre and discarded his various other bishop's attributes, the mothers having decided that this would be the perfect symbolic finale to a period of child-friendly hoodwinking.* The crowd included a chubby two-year-old boy who wasn't yet old enough to be robbed of his faith. Having stumbled upon something he liked, he set sail for the dance floor, clenching two glasses full of liquid in his plump little hands. Bending down, I said in a blokey tone of voice: "My my, what have you got there, isn't that wonderful, but you know, it could break if you dropped it. Tell you what, why don't you put it back." Hands off, I said to myself, don't take it away from him. The toddler peered up at me, then looked at his glassware. In a seemingly pre-emptive strike he froze for a split second, then returned in accelerated slow motion to the table to plonk down his booty. With a preoccupied look on his face he disappeared into the crowd, without giving me a second glance. Without wishing to pinpoint where exactly a developing mind starts opening up to norms and values, I can assure you that it's a heck of a lot sooner than you and the government think. The consequence is that a blank mind finds itself facing chaos not order. All the more fascinating to see that reason has already kicked in at such a fledgling stage. But as I am also aware of how difficult children can be, I experienced a fleeting moment of exceptional pride in the result that had been achieved. I wonder whether the government could put this to good use … * Note by a traumatised translator: The celebrations in honour of Saint Nicholas, the Bishop of Myra in Spain, or Sinterklaas as the Dutch affectionately call him, are a predominantly family-oriented occasion. They are held in the early evening on the fifth of December, when presents are exchanged between family members. These presents should preferably be hidden inside self-made "surprises", structures which owe much if not all to empty loo rolls and egg cartons, plenty of glue and, for the traditionalists, a revolting mixture of sawdust and treacle for the recipient to reach into and retrieve his or her present from (although contemporary "surprise builders" have been known to use shredded paper from mummy or daddy's office, it being maximum messiness while unwrapping that counts). In de run-up to the fifth of December, children are invited to "put out their shoe" before they go to bed, so that Saint Nicholas, who negotiates the rooftops astride his trusty white steed, can send the Black Peters by whom he is accompanied down the chimney to retrieve the carrots or sugar lumps left inside the children's shoes in exchange for a treat or a small present. |