Every night before going to sleep, the boys wants to do bedtime stories. Đạo (my soon-to-be-seven-year-old son) usually tells us what he did in school or in his Minecraft world. For me, I just pick out recent family trips to remind them the good times. My four-year-old Đán sticks to his dinosaur stories, but the details just seem to get darker and darker each time. For instance, his story last night went something like this:
Once upon a time, there’s a T-Rex and a Brachiosaurus. They got into a fight. The T-Rex bit the Brachiosaurus’s neck. Blood spilled everywhere. The Brachiosaurus was eaten by the T-Rex.
He went on to provide more graphical details, but I couldn’t remember all of dinosaur names he was dropping. Suddenly, he switched:
There were two eggs. They hatched into baby dinosaurs. The babies were hungry so they fought each other. One killed the other. But then both got stomped by a Giganotosaurus.
For a four-year-old, Đán has an impressive dinosaur vocabulary, and yet I haven’t been able to get him to recognize the alphabet letters beyond A, O, and X. His expressive storytelling is also intriguing, but I am not sure if it is a gift or a curse.