Peter Rhodes on politics, religion and a curious experience under hypnosis
In Wednesday's epistle I may have overplayed the trauma of our four-year-old grandson starting school. At 9.05am on his first day in Reception, his mother texted us: “No tears. Super-excited and not even a kiss goodbye.”
But then we should be wary of imprinting adult anxieties on carefree little creatures who have only been on this planet for 50-odd months. Some years ago, for a feature, I had a session of regressive (past lives) hypnotherapy with a hypnotist called Joe Keaton. In a matter of moments, I was lying on his couch and being transported back to the age of five.
“Peter, it's your first day at school!” intoned Keaton, dramatically. To my acute embarrassment, I dissolved into helpless sobbing with huge tears rolling into my ears. I felt all the abandonment, the loneliness, the insecurity of being taken from home and into the care of strangers that you'd expect any shy little five-year-old to suffer.
