Sure you do. Thank god they don't have to grow up in a nuclear universe and instead will live in one where their father goes insane and blows up his place of work. Because, you'll recall, no one will know why Dyson destroyed Cyberdyne. No one except his wife, who will either keep that to herself or be committed for screaming about cyborg Austrians. And so there is no circumstance where Miles Dyson doesn't leave a trail of psychiatry bills and confused memories. Just like how one day a man named Pinocchio will be constantly second-guessing the vague memory that he was once a bewitched puppet.
"He's having puppet and donkey flashbacks? OK, we're doubling his treatment sessions."
How much do you remember when you were Pinocchio's age? I'm guessing only what your parents told you. Now imagine that your parent is a 90-year-old woodworker insisting he assembled you from oak and a celestial pact with a sexy phantom. And these two cases are probably the best scenarios compared to what a kid like Tim Murphy will go through. He was the 9-year-old dinosaur fanatic whose hobby was twisted into a grotesque blackness forever inside him thanks to a weekend at Jurassic Park.
"Grandpa Hammond, can you please stop giving me that stuff for my birthdays?"
"Look, I've got millions in Jurassic Park merchandise sitting in a warehouse; it's gotta go somewhere."
The amount of emotional scarring that must have haunted this character is so over-the-top that someone made a spoof Twitter account for it. Not to mention the brief period of time between the first film and Lost World where Tim has no one to consult for his trauma, as InGen's cover-up means there are zero psychologists or peers that would think of him as anything but a compulsive liar or some kind of dinosaur-seeing schizophrenic. But hey, at least he eventually gets to tell his story, unlike Elliott in E.T. or that kid from Flight Of The Navigator -- both of which no doubt had to emotionally bury their touching alien encounters like some kind of cursed treasure.