To Hot Lava and Sharks

Walking past the park, I hear three four-year olds playing on the swings; one yells “Hot lava! Hot lava! Hot lava!” 

My son, 11 years ago, played the same game with his friends. They’d hop from couch to chair, screaming about hot lava and I wanted to ask them how they even knew about lava? We watch Sesame Street and Arthur on PBS. The Jungle Book and 101 Dalmatians. When did they ever even hear about lava?? Hot or otherwise?

There must be a handbook, somehow given to all four-year olds, that details the horrors of hot lava. And sharks. These are the pillars of post-toddlerhood, pre-elementary school archetypal dramas about Ways The World Is Big And Scary. Danger comes in the form of a lava rush, complete decimation of all living things in its path. Or it’s in the form of an unseen hungry, mindless creature swimming just beneath you, ready to tug. Once. Twice. Three times and you are under.

All the four-year olds play “Hot Lava” and “Shark Attack.” Practice, really, for the danger they have just barely come to recognize. Adults get mad. Hot lava. They shout. Shark attack. People die. Hot lava. People yell. Shark attack. My mom stopped talking. Hot lava. I don’t like the dark. Shark attack.

What if they leave? Hot lava.

What if I am alone? Shark attack.