On my wife’s birthday, I handed her a neatly wrapped DVD—Titanic. Romance, nostalgia, and a little Leonardo DiCaprio never hurt anyone. As she peeled back the paper, our three-year-old, Max, tilted his head and asked, perfectly serious, “Can I watch it after nursery?”
Without thinking, I said, “Not this one, buddy. That’s for grown-ups—just Mommy and Daddy.”
That afternoon, his teacher could barely contain her laughter. Apparently, Max had spent the day informing classmates, teachers, and startled parents that “Mommy and Daddy watch Titanic alone at night because it’s for grown-ups only.” I hurriedly clarified at pickup.
“Yes, the Titanic—the ship. With Leonardo DiCaprio.”
The story became our favorite icebreaker, a quick laugh that softened any day.
Yet Max’s curiosity quickly shifted. He became fascinated—not by the movie—but by the real Titanic. Questions poured in:
“What made it sink? Did anyone survive? Was there a slide? Was it like a pirate ship?”
Bath time became a rescue mission, using shampoo caps as lifeboats. Duplo towers transformed into ocean liners with uneven smokestacks. His imagination was unrelenting.
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