But no matter how breezy you are about it, ideas can be terrifying. I know what it's like to be a kid burdened with adult ennui. My brother and sister and I were brought up in apartheid-era South Africa with politically active parents who believed in making sure we knew about injustice from a very young age.
This was admirable but it can be tormenting as a child to be aware of atrocities but powerless to do anything. We did go on protest marches and other whitey guilt-assuaging activities, but it did not give me a sense of effectiveness.
My father organised a prayer vigil back when he had God, but then we all fell out with the conservatives at the cathedral and so religion wasn't much chop either.
Being aware of Sharpeville and Soweto massacres was a horror. But there is a particular sort of dread when you feel as a child you are in some way to blame. It is one thing to be aware of brutality and barbarism as an adult; quite another to be aware at the age of 7 and to know you are in some way responsible because of the colour of your skin. Or perhaps your religion.
How do Muslim children in New Zealand feel when they hear of extremist Islamic terror attacks? If it is unbearable for an adult to feel the burden of responsibility and the paralysis of helplessness, it must be excruciating for a child.
When we emigrated to New Zealand my top worry was replaced with nuclear war. That was easier: I could just hate Reagan and go on Campaign for Nuclear Disarmament marches.
My children's current fear roster includes global warming, extinction of species, sugar, cyber-bullying, heavy rain, earthquakes, car crashes ("Mum! Both hands on the wheel!") and now terrorism.
So far my explanation has been pretty pathetic. Extremists, fundamentalists, blah blah, crazy people, no, of course it's not going to happen here! Maybe my explanation is inadequate because it is impossible to explain Isis in a way that makes rational sense, even to an adult.
My son listened to my nonsensical explanation and dismissed it with a non- sequitur - "We could feed Hitler's bones to Scribbles" - and went back to his homemade Pokemon cards. (Scribbles is a theoretical dog to replace the deceased Spotty.) I may have another go at reassuring them later.
A Facebook friend shared a suggestion which was doing the rounds. "When I was a boy and I would see scary things in the news, my mother would say to me "Look for the helpers. You will always find people who are helping."
That might be comforting. But maybe I will just put on the spa music. Maybe I won't bring it up again unless they do. Is it wrong that I want my children to feel safe, for as long as possible, even though I can't protect them forever?
I was appreciative of the graciousness of Jack Tame's response to my belligerent column last week in which I challenged his claim we breed kids too soft. "I actually agree with you. I only wished to say that bull rush shouldn't be banned and certainly not to imply that kids should be forced into playing it or any other physical or violent activity. I was a theatre kid and a rugby kid who missed our team's seventh form rugby semifinal to attend the national barbershop champs. So I can assure you I'm familiar with the ugly side of boofhead rugby culture. I just think that banning kids from appropriate rough and tumble is an overstep and that a lunch hour blowout is often a good thing."
