Shortly after getting home from work this evening, I discovered that my daughter’s recently acquired goldfish, Goldie, had died. This is the first time my daughter has had to reconcile this particular situation, and so, of course, she was tremendously upset.
I have to be honest here; I really wanted to use the ‘he’s gone to heaven’ or ‘he’s in a better place now’ euphemism, because they’re so much more comfortable for me – the parent – as they seem to excuse me of any liability. If I infer there is a ‘special place’, then there is implicitly a janitor of that place, who is the true culprit in this crime.
But I was faced with a moral crisis. Moments before, when I arrived home from work, my wife was pulling up beside me in the driveway, and after I had let Holly out of her car seat, it began to rain. She asked, ‘Why is it raining, Daddy?’. I gave her the lazy, tired parent answer, ‘I don’t know, babe.’, and so I fully deserved her response, ‘I think Jesus makes it rain!’. So I back-pedaled and attempted to explain the water-cycle and the role of precipitation to make amends for my failing, but it was too late, she simply repeated that Jesus made it rain.
Remember, pictures can be deceiving. As much as I love her, she is a hellion.
I should note here that my daughter attends church with her mum and brother, which I have no real problem with. I want the kids to have a varied and ecumenical upbringing, so I am not indoctrinating my (lack of) beliefs upon them. I will, however, ensure they understand how to question absolutely everything they are told (alas, including what I tell them). As long as they are not taught imbecility like the world only being 6000 years old or vaccines don’t work, then I am happy to let them experience a valuable cultural lesson.
Anyway, so at the point we discover Goldie is dead (he survived a whopping 24 hours in our home), I instantly realize I have a duty to not be lazy this time, and do what I believe is the responsible thing – to tell my little girl the truth. So I explained as gently as I could that Goldie was simply dead, that he was gone, that he exists no more. I didn’t feel like an asshole (which I was worried about), and she didn’t break down into tears any more than could be expected of a 4 year old dealing with grief. But what was the point? What’s the harm in saying something comforting about heaven or being with the angels?
Well, aside from it being a lie, which is a terrible way to lay the foundations of a relationship in my opinion, I hope to not engender her to either a hope or fear that there is an afterlife; I want her to be a moral agent because of her reason, and not because she is afraid of being on the bad-side of the sky-father. I don’t want her to do good things as part of some supernatural barter system, but because it is simply better to do good things. I want her to live her life as though it is the only one she has (which it is), and not deprive herself of experiences in acts of restraint that reduce her enjoyment of all the wonderful things we can enjoy.
No I won’t turn a blind eye if she brings an 18 year old boy home in ten years (I’ll be cleaning my shotgun out and making it clear that those four years difference may as well be four million miles for all the chance he has), nor will I condone drug use or drinking alcohol until she is an adult (then it’s her decision). I will explain the importance of making good decisions based on reason and logic, of weighing the evidence, of deducing the best path to take. And because I intend to parent in this way, for better or for worse, I believe I have to start with being honest about what happens when a goldfish dies.
She adores this cat. Somehow, he puts up with her, too.
You see, Holly, I love you with all my heart, and I want only the best for you. I know, insofar as I can know anything, that for you to truly appreciate this magnificent gift nature has provided you – a once in a life time experience, actually – you must know how to tell the truth, but also how to hear the truth. People will lie to you, they will hurt you, they will try to use you, but I won’t. I’m your dad and I will always tell you the truth, I will always protect you, and I will always be there for you. Until I’m dead, of course, but by then, I think that perfect little head will be firmly on it’s shoulders, and you’ll be alright. Love you, chubbins.
For further reading into my exploits as an atheist parent, please see these articles;
Letting Her Be Hurt (or, ‘Atheist Parenting II’)
The Ten Suggestions (or, ‘Atheist Parenting III’)
Do As You Must (or, ‘Atheist Parenting IV’)
A rational avalanche 
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