One evening during the week, we suggested to our eldest daughter, aged 8, that she should go on a summer camp vacation. She was quite keen, if only to taunt her younger siblings. After this exchange, my partner and I realized the obvious. We were going to have to have the uncomfortable conversation with her that haunts many parents. How do we talk to our child about sexual violence and the risk of pedophilia? How can we avoid terrorizing her or giving her the false impression that evil is everywhere? And at the same time, how can we say what needs to be said?
Your first instinct may be to bury your head in the sand, but unfortunately this is neither effective nor very responsible. Your second reflex may be to tell yourself I've already "done the job." During bath time, in preparation for sleepovers and a previous stay at camp, I repeatedly told my children that their bodies belonged to them and that no one had the right to touch them if they didn't agree. As a result, my youngest, aged 4, spent weeks shouting at anyone who would listen that I'd cut her bangs without her consent, even though her body belonged to her. She then applied the same system to eating zucchini.
Your third reflex can be to look for resources. In this case, I didn't have to go far. I'm lucky enough to receive children's books because I review them for Le Monde. On Saturday, my youngest daughter, now aged 5, pounced on the armchair and said, "Mommy, I want you to read this to us!"
The book in question was a new title in Milan's Mes P'tits Pourquoi ("My Little Whys") collection, soberly entitled: L'Inceste ("Incest"), addressing a specific but frequent situation of sexual violence. It provided the necessary opportunity to speak about it. So, after a bout of nervous laughter and an exchange of glances with their dad, I let the little troupe (8, 5 and 3 years old) crowd around me to prepare for what they thought would be yet another story about a lost blankie. You know how sometimes you can hear the quality of silence? Well, I can guarantee that I could hear their silence, as I told them the story of Plume and her "uncle," "who looks gentle and kind." The book names acts and emotions with precision and clarity; it tries to draw a line between the cuddles that children need, and those that make them "uncomfortable." It anticipates their fears and questions, and sets out the framework of the law and seeks to relieve victims of their guilt.
While I was reading, my eldest daughter reacted only once, when "uncle was in prison" at the end. "In prison?!" she exclaimed. "Is it really that serious?" In her eyes, the subject of sexual violence (which can also come from adults other than those in the family, I pointed out to them) suddenly passed from the register of the intimate to the judicial register, with all the solemnity conferred by a book.
You have 53.11% of this article left to read. The rest is for subscribers only.