Mad World

"I wrote a story." The Elder Boy said, apropos of nothing, as he was getting ready for school a week or so in the rearview.

"Really? What about?" I asked.

Nothing. Just an ornery smile.

"What about?" I asked again. With his shit-eating grin I knew there had to be more to the story about his story.

"About Rudolph." He said. "We had to draw a Christmas picture and then write a story to go with it."

Then he laughed.

"Is there something about your story that is funny?" I asked.

"Yeah..."

"What?"

"Well, you know the story of Rudolph, right?"

Fuck me. Patronized by a 7 year old.

"Yes." I answered. "I know the story of Rudolph."

"Well you know how the other reindeer are mean to Rudolph...well in my story Rudolph goes into Santa's shop in the middle of the night and makes a gun and then..." He paused for dramatic effect. "...and kills the other reindeer."

"Excuse me?!?" I said.

"Because they make fun of him he sneaks into Santa's workshop..."

"I get it Boy. Rudolph goes postal." I said cutting him off.

"Postal?" He asked.

I cut him off again and said, "You didn't turn it in yet, did you?"

"No." He said with a puzzled look on his face.

"Thank God."

"Why?" He asked, confused.

"Dude, they'll think something is wrong with you if you turn that in...it would freak people out, bad."

"Really?"

"Really." I said. "They'll think you're crazy."

"It's just a story." He said defensively. "The other reindeer are mean to Rudolph..."

He started to explain the story again but I wasn't really listening at that point. I was busy wondering what I should do. I know my Boy. I know he's not crazy. Or at least not that kind of crazy. That he thinks too hard and has a dark sense of humor, which he more than likely gets from my demented ass.

After he was done explaining his story and drawing to me I said, "I get it son. I do. You have what they call a dark sense of humor. You get it from me. The more disturbing something is, the funnier I find it. But the thing is, in our world today, you can't do stuff like that."

"Why?" He asked.

How do you explain political correctness to a 2nd grader? And the horrible things he's never heard of that cause a certain amount of it, like the Columbine High School massacre? If I told him about that he'd never want to back to school, he'd worry so much.

"Why...it's just a story?" He said again looking for an answer.

"Son. I understand. I get it. But most people won't."

"Why?"

"Why." I said.

My go to move. Ever the dipshit. Answer a question with a question to buy time.

"Ok." I finally said. "I'm going to try and explain it to you but you need to let me get all my words out before you start asking me questions. OK?"

"Ok."

"I get that you are a sweet kid who has a dark sense of humor. I know you would never hurt anyone. You are tender hearted. Very tender hearted. You don't mean anything by the story. Well actually you do. You get the fact that the Rudolph story is sort of messed up...that the other reindeer basically drive him from his home and family because he's different. Which is disturbing. Rudolph should be pissed."

"Yeah," Ethan said. "He goes and lives with that elf and all those toys..."

"Yes," I said cutting him off. "I appreciate the fact that you look at the Rudolph story and see it for what it really is, a messed up story. I mean seriously, the other reindeer drive him away because he's different. And they only accept him when the thing they made fun of him about can help them get their job done. That's messed up. But the thing is Boy...most people don't look that deeply. They don't really think about it. Not like that. Not like you."

"Like that song about the muslins?" He said.

Fuck me. It's like I'm talking to a 7 year old version of me.

We have to back up a few days for the song about the muslims. It was a typical Mr. Mom on our way to school morn when Do They Know It's Christmas came on the radio.

"Dad." Ethan said.

"Yeah?"

"Why don't they know it's Christmas?" He asked.

"Probably because they are muslims." I said. "They lived in Ethiopia which is in Africa and many people over there are Islamic which is the same as muslims. They don't celebrate Christmas because they aren't Christians."

"Why." He asked seriously.

Not wanting to get into a full on comparative religion study on the extremely short drive to school I said, "I'll explain that later. Listen to the words of the song instead. Its a pretty song with nice voices and all, but listen to what they are saying..the words, 'There's a world outside your window, and it's a world of dread and fear, where the only water flowing is the bitter sting of tears, and the Christmas bells that ring there are the clanging chimes of doom, well tonight thank God it's them instead of you.' Pretty messed up, huh?"

"Yeah." He said. "Why?"

"Most people don't listen to it that closely." I said. "They just hear the melody and the basic message and know it's about Christmas so they don't really think about it."

"No. I meant why are they sad and it doom?" He asked.

"That song is from when I was in high school. Olden times. The 1980s. There was a famine, which means they didn't have any food, and water was hard to find in Ethiopia, which is in Africa. All these English guys formed this band and did this song and the money went to try and help the people in Ethiopia. Which is a good thing."

Fast forward to what was then, now, and I said, "Yeah, like that song about the muslims. It's the same with the story of Rudolph. Most people don't think about it that hard. At least not as hard as you."

"Why?"

"Just the way people are, Boy. Everyone is different. What makes the world go around. But the thing is if you turn your story in, more than likely you'll end up in the counselor's office having to talk about why you drew it. They might think you see yourself as Rudolph in the story. That you are going to do something violent. Or you are being picked on at school."

"Really?" He asked, completely shocked.

"Yeah. And you'd hate that wouldn't you?" I asked. "The last thing you want to do is to have to go and talk to them about a picture you drew cause you thought it was a funny twist in the Rudolph story. Violent. Yes. And bad. But funny. I'd laugh if you turned it into me, and knew you didn't really mean it. That your over-the-top violence was to draw attention to how messed up the story is..."

"What?" He asked, confused.

"That's just a fancy way of saying that you have Rudolph doing something extreme because you are commenting on, or wanting people to see certain things about the story that they might not have thought about."

"Huh?" He asked, again confused.

"You are a lot like me Boy, we think alike, and that's what I think you are doing, I'm just putting it in grown-up words," I explained. "But I think it's what is going on with your drawing and story."

At least I hope so. I thought.

"I don't think your teacher would feel the same way." I added. "Probably freak her out, bad."

"Yeah." He said.

"I have a way I think you can fix it though, if you want?"

"How?"

"Just change the gun to something not so violent. Or something that is silly violent, like they do in cartoons." I said. "I imagine reindeer would be proud of their antlers. Maybe Rudolph sneaks into the shop and gets a saw and cuts their antlers down short so they look funny. They'd all have antler envy."

"Yeah." He said laughing.

"Or he gets some paint from Santa's shop and paints the antlers funny colors so they look silly. Maybe pink. Since they are boy reindeer."

"That would be funny." He laughed.

"Or you can leave it the way you have it, I don't want to censor you, which means stop you from doing something creative, but as your Dad, I have to warn you, if you turn that in, I think it's going to have consequences you won't like. You'll get attention from it you don't want. And you'll hate that. I know you."

"But I already drew the picture." He said.

"I'm sure you can make the gun into a saw easily enough." I offered.

"Or I could start over." He said.

"Yeah. You could start over. If you want to start over. It's ultimately up to you Boy."

We were both quiet for awhile after that. I had expended more words in this one conversation than I'd probably said in the past week. Plus I couldn't help but wonder if I had handled the situation correctly.

Should I have said nothing and let him hand it in and face the consequences? To see the reaction. Maybe I was overreacting? All young boys, to some degree, go through a violent death fixated sort of stage. The again, maybe I wasn't reacting enough and should be worried about the Boy?

In the end Dear Reader, I simply don't know. I did what I thought was correct. And I hope, even pray, that time proves me right.

A day later while watching Santa Claus is Comin' to Town I asked the Boy what he ended up doing. I figured he'd censored himself to some degree since I hadn't been summoned to school for a parent teacher conference. But I wasn't sure what he actually did so I asked, "What did you end up doing. About Rudolph?"

"I did the saw." He said which sort of made me feel bad if I'm honest. I hate censoring anyone, especially my child.

"Where's Rudolph." He asked watching the part in Santa Claus is Comin' to Town when it explains why reindeer can fly.

"Keep watching." I said.

And sure enough a few moments later the show answered for me.

"Oh," he said. "Dad?"

"Yeah."

"I had another idea for a story. If I didn't do Rudolph. You know the elf guy in Rudolph? Who is different too."

"I think his name is Hermey." I said. "He wants to be a dentist instead of make toys."

"Yeah. Well I was going to have him break into Santa's shop in the middle of the night, get a tool and..."

"Dude." I said interrupting him.

"...pull out all the elves teeth."

"Nice." I said. "You and your Yuletide revenge stories."

"Yuletide?" He asked.

"That means Christmas." I answered. "But seriously Ethan. Should I be worried about you?"

"Dad." He said smiling that ornery smile.

"It's just a story."

Until I BLOG again...And I find it kind of funny, I find it kind of sad.