Why does it hurt, Bapi? - Dalal, Kunal
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Speaking to children about pain and loss is hard. As a new father, I began to wonder how I could speak to my little guy about why pain exists and why he will have to feel it. The theme of the story is that pain is real, but there is often more to it, if we can just stand it in the moment. As his son feels hurt at different stages of his life, the father offers his son what he learned himself through his own pain. And if he allows himself it, he may be able to learn - and maybe even find joy - from the pain as well. The book is meant to be more than something to read to children, it is meant to…mehr

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Produktbeschreibung
Speaking to children about pain and loss is hard. As a new father, I began to wonder how I could speak to my little guy about why pain exists and why he will have to feel it. The theme of the story is that pain is real, but there is often more to it, if we can just stand it in the moment. As his son feels hurt at different stages of his life, the father offers his son what he learned himself through his own pain. And if he allows himself it, he may be able to learn - and maybe even find joy - from the pain as well. The book is meant to be more than something to read to children, it is meant to speak to adults as well. The final two sections will likely be the most affecting for parents and adults. In the penultimate section, the child asks me about the hurt he feels when he sees his own baby, and in the final section, I turn the questions around, and ask my own son why my old knees and back hurt. I feel like I have learned that pain can be more than the immediate hurt that we feel in the moment, that pain might be a sign that we cared for - and loved something - greater than ourselves. This book is my attempt, with humility and vulnerability, at sharing that with my child.
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Autorenporträt
Kunal is a first-generation American-born Bengali. Which was, by a most unlikely chance, exactly what he wanted to be born. Living the life of a skinny dark Bengali boy wandering bright shiny school hallways in the suburban south, well before that was another banality of America, well before there were any Indian parents that had American accents, and when gas station phone cards were the only way to talk to cousins back home, this little man came of age. He bounced back and forth from places like Fort Worth, TX and Augusta, GA, to Kolkata (then known by its long since forgotten name, Calcutta), India as a young child, before his family moved to India for a six year stint when he was nine years old. He spent is middle school (and a bit of high school) years at Calcutta International School, where he met a cadre of absolute randos who would then become his greatest friends. Fast forward (funny we still say that, we haven't used tape-based AV in a generation) to adulthood, and that that little in-between dude went into education, was a public high school teacher and administrator in Boston and the Bay Area.