Adults rarely pay attention not to the stories of their young children about bumps and other mysterious phenomena. But why do children so love to talk about the other world, which they should not know anything about? Or maybe, on the contrary, they know and see more than adults and even remember their past life?
Several short stories shared by parents of young children on forums and on social networks once again confirm that children see the world around them differently from adults.
My son Yaroslav often complained that some thin creature is trying to catch him when he passes the stairs that lead to the attic. I didn't pay attention to these stories until one day I decided to clean up the attic. Yaroslav tearfully begged me not to go upstairs to a thin man. I, of course, ignored this warning. When I almost reached the top of the stairs, I felt a jolt, twisted my leg and fell. I spent three weeks in the hospital. True, when I returned home, my son forgot about the existence of a thin monster.
One evening I was dressing my daughter, and I noticed that she was constantly looking over my shoulder and giggling. Behind me there was an open wardrobe, I asked what, in fact, she saw funny. “Uncle,” the daughter replied. “What other uncle?” I asked. "A funny uncle with a long neck like a snake." When my wife and I bought this house, we knew that a man had hanged himself in it. But my daughter couldn't know about it.
When my little sister had an imaginary friend, my parents and I knew his name was John, and he lives in the kitchen under the table with his wife and children. John "lived" with us for about a year, until a three-year-old sister with tears in her eyes announced that John would not come again, because he shot his entire family with a rifle, and then shot himself.
This happened when my daughter was only three years old. One day, early in the morning, she flew disheveled into my room. I asked what happened to her. And she replied: "Some old grandfather tickled my feet and did not let me sleep." My father died three years before his daughter was born. This is how he woke me and my older brother when we were little.
One evening, I watched a documentary about the war in the evening. My daughter was four years old, she was sitting next to me and looking at some kind of children's book. The screen showed a gas chamber in a concentration camp, the camera moved from right to left. Suddenly my daughter raised her eyes, pointed her finger at the screen and said: "That's where I was the last time, in that corner."
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My best friend Lyuba had an accident and died. Then I was in the first month of pregnancy. My daughter was born, I named her Katya. Time passed, my Katya was three years old. One evening I looked into the nursery and asked my daughter what she was laughing at. She replied: "Aunt Lyuba is so funny, she makes such funny faces!"
