Not just any children. I refer to small boys. Why is it that small boys seem to have an almost universal longing to either blow things up, burn them down, or run over these afore-mentioned things (buildings, cars, cows, siblings, etc) with large earth-moving equipment? I’m not sure if it’s a genetic trait shared by all small boys, or perhaps it’s more of a nurture thing – ie., something common to their respective environments, such as breathing oxygen? Whatever the reason, the two small boys who happen to live in my house are proving quite anarchic in nature. I imagine they would’ve gotten on quite well with Mikhail Bakunin, the kindly father of the Russian anarchist movement in the 19th century. Mikhail had a fondness for tossing bombs at people and fomenting insurrections. I’m not sure, though, if he would’ve returned the friendship of my two small boys. They might have driven him to renounce his ways and seek refuge in a monastery. I can hear their conversation now.
Small Boy: Cool. Wow. Hey, hey! Is that a bomb? Is that a bomb?
Bakunin: Yes. With this I shall demolish the bourgeois capitalists and–
Small Boy: Here, here, here! Lemme draw a smiley face on it. Do you like my cowboy hat? Lookit, lookit!
Bakunin: Get your hands off my bomb, you little–
Small Boy: Let’s blow up the cat! Here, you be the cat. Do you want a snack? I’m hungry. I want a snack. Let’s have a cheese stick. And Oreos. I like Oreos. You only get one cuz you’re fat.
Bakunin: Why, you–!
Small Boy: I’m getting cowboy boots for Christmas. And you know what? You know what? Hey, you know what? Hey, hey, you know what? I can stick this straw up my nose – look, look! I can drink milk through it.
“Lest you become like little children you shall not enter the Kingdom of God.” Hmm…
That’s a fairly alarming thought, oddly enough.
Spot on! I have just one boy, which, ironically, is far more annoying to most than a pair who at least mostly entertain themselves. So fun, when the opportunity arises, to sit back and listen. I can see this bit of inspiration turning into a short story… hint, hint.
Exactly. I just hope my various family members don’t turn around and sue me, years down the road, when they start recognizing themselves in my stories. Great inspiration.
One of my sons was caught red handed in second grade passing a note containing none other than a list of ingredients for the makings of a bomb! Windex and fertilizer were the first two items. It was one of the more unusual administrative school phone calls I’ve received thus far in our educational progression.
Wow. I hope the administration was level-headed enough to understand context. He sounds exactly like my 6-year-old.