How many of us remember the image of three-year-old JFK Jr. standing stoically at his mother’s side, saluting as his father’s casket passed by during the funeral procession? The photo of “John-John” is emblazoned in the collective memory of the nation, enduring as a heartbreaking and haunting picture of a child’s grief. With the recent death of the photographer of that photo, the image has been revived from the archives and splashed through the news media again.
I have been submerged in understanding child grief, and the return of the salute photo got me interested in the bigger picture. Like all indelible images, this image beckons its viewer to imagine the story, evoking thoughts and feelings that influence our interpretations. Many people who were present at the time, including the photographer, military officials, political aids, and family friends explored their own versions of this photo and its meaning.
As I grew increasingly interested in the story behind the salute, I came across a different viewpoint written by a former George magazine employee (JFK Jr.’s magazine). JFK Jr.’s comments to his employee journalist suggest that the media’s interpretation of his salute was inaccurate: the boy was not following his mother’s instructions to salute his father’s casket. The journalist goes on to conclude, “It was far more likely, I believe, that he was mimicking the saluting guardsmen who lined the street. He was having a moment of fun on an otherwise grim occasion.”
This viewpoint is controversial, but I love it. Although conjecture, I believe this explanation has real merit. A three year old is literally built for play and has little understanding of the gravity of death. To be made to salute for the media or public’s benefit by his surviving parent seemed cruel to me. As I climb deeper into understanding the grief of children, I find myself protective of the child’s experience and resentful of the long shadow cast by adult interpretation, with all its accompanying complex thoughts and feelings. I don’t like the thought of a child, who is navigating an extremely challenging and devastating time, having to be burdened and bogged down by the expectations and projections of the public—it seems like unnecessary baggage the child is forced to carry at precisely the time we should be working to lighten the load.
I would argue that if indeed John-John was having a moment of fun, that is not an inappropriate taboo or an interruption in what should be sacrosanct. I would argue that that bit of fun is itself sacrosanct: it is too valuable to be interfered with. Should we sully a young child’s reactions with our adult imposition of what’s right and proper and polite and appropriate? I fear that too often us adults are preoccupied with what we need and want instead of what the child needs and wants.
Play is the work of childhood—it is vital to healthy human development, both cognitively and physically. Children use play to explore and learn about their environment, to work out aggression, to manage anxiety, and of course, to have fun! Play is as central to their lives as language is to ours, so it is only natural that play would have a prominent role in children’s grief reactions.
It can be jarring for an adult to see how quickly and easily children vacillate between grief and play; just when you’ve braced yourself to answer that difficult question or prepared for the anguish of trying to comfort an upset child, they’ve seemingly moved on from that moment in time. Indeed, children may surprise you with their easy ability to shift attention away from grief rather than wallowing as adults tend to do. In time, the child will likely cycle back through their sadness and re-grieve. It is important to normalize this vacillation-- both for your own reassurance and for the reassurance to the child lest they feel guilty for following their natural instincts to play.
Play is not disrespectful to grief, it is an important aspect of coping and processing. And if indeed John-John was having a moment of fun, more power to him.
©2021 Keefe Funeral Home ⋄
Admin
Obittree Privacy Policy Terms of Use Sitemap ⋄ Powered by
FrontRunner Professional &
TA ⋄ Designed by
Don't Rest On Pretty