Voices: ‘I’ve been eating blood’: The unspoken truth about kids is how sinister they are

“I expect it’s because I’ve been eating blood,” my five-year-old daughter offered casually to her older sister.

I was slow to answer a question on why her eyes were red on a video I’d sent. There was no longer a need for my explanation about the effect of a camera flash on a retina. Nobody slept very well in my household that evening, except the blood-guzzler, who always sleeps soundly.

That’s the strange, sinister beauty of kids – they say weird things. That does not mean we have to believe them, or even psychoanalyse them for hidden meanings.

So why do we do so with celebrities? The brightest minds on the internet stepped forward the other day to dive deep into the meaning behind Kim Kardashian’s seven-year-old son, Saint, saying, “you’re nothing to me,” to his mum on Mother’s Day.

“Mum, I’m very grateful for you. I know I’m mean to you a lot and say you’re nothing to me, but you mean the world to me. I love you more than anything. You’re my favorite in the family. I even love you more than my cute little brother Psalm. I love you,” Saint told his mother in the clip.

Some reacted in horror, asking: “Now why would Saint West be telling Kim Kardashian that she means nothing to him”, while another said: “Saint said that he tells Kim ‘she’s nothing to him’ like omg.” “Whyyyyy is Saint telling Kim she’s nothing to him. How does he even know what that means. Omg!” someone else asked.

But isn’t it a mainstay to hear “I hate you!” from your kids at some point in your life? We’ve all done it. We’ll likely all hear it. I see it more like a rite of passage, as I do with all the other horrifying statements and questions that get thrown in my direction.

“Do you want to buy my farts in a jar?” was a recent offer I received. I didn’t stick around to question the details – there was too much to unravel. I didn’t agonise over it, though, either. I saw it for what it was: just another episode of kids not being wholly rational or entirely appropriate. It happens.

I have countless examples, and I’m sure other parents do too. One standout moment for me included the sad and sombre occasion of the Queen’s funeral, last September. Just like millions of other humans, my children – who are five, seven and three – were interested to watch the grand ceremonial procession.

My kids had lots of questions about the monumental event, and I was very happy to explain the unfolding of this poignant moment in history. Yet as I explained the reasoning for a military and police escort for the monarch’s coffin, my daughter interjected with: “Yes, it’s because they don’t want bad guys putting her into a soup and burning it.” Mic drop. I know.

But we really don’t need to unpick casual, imaginative statements like that. No, it wasn’t an appropriate thing to say, but there was absolutely no malice in it.

The minds of young children are simply on a different plain to us adults. They are exhilarated by having new ideas, and these types of other-worldly thoughts haven’t been drummed out of their brains, yet. They don’t have an appreciation of social propriety – and I think that’s a good thing. It means they are free to say what they really think, unencumbered by duty or the urge to people-please.

Plus, reading into the meaning of what kids say – even if they are born to megastars like Kardashian – is often a thankless task, anyway,

Take it from me: I asked my five-year-old if there was somewhere special that she’d like to go for her birthday – somewhere fun, full of everything she loves. I thought she might need a bit of guidance, perhaps some prompts towards an “activity farm”, a pig-based world or day of soft-play, but no.

“Yes please!” she shouted back at me with certainty in her eyes. “Please can we go to the special tunnel with the flashing bright light, near the giant orange building, where the man with the hat stays with his friend?”

I had no idea what she was talking about. The more I struggled to understand where this mystical place was, the more animated my daughter became. She was desperate to visit this promised land of dreams, and I was resigned to the fact that it wouldn’t happen, because either it was impossible to work out its whereabouts, or it was a creation of my child’s imagination.

The following day, I dragged my clan on a very dull errand to the supermarket to collect nappies and toilet roll. My daughter stopped me in my tracks, gave me a gripping hug like never before and softly said: “Thank you so much, Daddy.”

She had been talking about the underpass that leads to Sainsbury’s, where the light flickers and a cheerful homeless man takes shelter with his friendly dog. It appeared that my girl loved this place more than anywhere else in the whole world. I had been unable to understand her, because I wasn’t on her wavelength.

Sometimes the words small people utter do have a deep meaning. But that certainly doesn’t mean they always do.

“Daddy would you rather wash your face with a handful of worms, or live underground forever with no light?” demanded my six-year-old. I opted for the first option, explaining that I couldn’t live in the darkness away from my beloved family.

“That is a shame, Daddy,” she replied. “The worms are poisonous and you will probably die.”

The realisation that I’d made a fatal choice could have been depressing, if I believed that it was real and that my child was content that I was to be exterminated by “worm washing”. But I understood quite clearly that it was an irrational, illogical, fantasy game.

“Would you rather live in a pile of wasps that keep stinging you, or hit your own foot with 20 pins and then 20 nails, with a hammer?” posed my darling second daughter.

“Are there any nicer options?” I queried.

“No, sorry it’s wasps or hammer foot”. Hammer, please. Is there any other choice?

Joe Clapson is an author and a father of three. He writes about the hilarious realities of parenting and also creates children’s stories for books, TV and Film. With a background in defence journalism, his battleground is now less war-zones and more “soft-play”