Thursday, November 21, 2013

The Grip Of Violence

Son: Daddy I want some candy. And if you don't give it to me I'm gonna kick you in the face.


I'm not sure when my son turned into a demon. Actually that's not fair. Most of the time he's the perfect little boy. But he is a boy. And whilst I do recall his sister's rabid, Tasmanian-devil, lunatic rages, she didn't generally saunter about the place being all punchy. My son though bombs around the house looking for someone to punch. Quite often he'll get the craving for violence - run into whatever room someone else is in and twat them - and then run right back to where he was. He can be playing with a toy or watching TV - doesn't matter. When the need arises he has to go twat someone.

I'm taking comfort in the idea that this is a boy thing, rather than an early indication of arseholiness. After all every parent with boys - or who has been to a playground where a bunch of them are running around all feral - has witnessed the wanton, unbridled aggression that seems to spill out of them. I was naively hoping my sweet, little boy would hold off on all that. But then it is seemingly primordial and an evolutionary thing. Still it'd be nice if he didn't continuously threatened to kick me in the face with a cheery smile on his face. Let's just hope and pray he doesn't evolve into one of those little bastards who takes great pleasure in keeping other people in the nuts.

I should point out to that he's a sneaky little bugger. Actually that's not quite true. Sometimes he's a sneaky little bugger. But he's also three - so he's often fairly shit at that. To clarify a little while ago I found candy wrappers under his bed. For a very short period he and his sister lifted a handful of Halloween candy and would then shoot off upstairs and hide under there to eat it. They thought it was such a good plan that my son couldn't not brag about it to me and his mother. After being chided for doing that (and for getting an unnamed, pink blob of something welded onto the carpet) he stopped doing that. However his mother was redcorating her bedroom and had to move some cushioned chairs out of there to paint. During which time she pulled off the cushions and discovered a big, fat handful of candy wrappers stuffed in there.

That was two days ago. Then this morning his sister was gathering some arts and crafts stuff out of the spare kitchen cabinets (we let the kids have two - that way they seemed entirely incurious about the rest of them) and found a bunch of Twizzler and chewable Jolly Rancher wrappers in there. Not carefully hidden either - he'd clearly just lobbed them willy-nilly in there thinking his plan was genius. But again - being three when you ask him about it he doesn't flip out with faux-innocence. He doesn't even use that opportunity to threaten to punch me in the bum cheek. No instead he grins with pride at how bloody brilliant that whole adventure was, and what a cracking hiding place he'd chucked the wrappers into.

Lastly he's been wowing people lately with his amazing jokes. He evidently heard the joke, "Why was 6 afraid of 7? Because 7,8,9..." Sadly he's spun that into something that goes, "Why were the numbers afraid? Because they are eating numbers!" He thinks it's hilarious. He also thinks any "joke" that he tells is hilarious - even if it is completely incomprehensible. The punchline for pretty much anything he says lately is, "mushroom!" At which point he explodes into laughter. Quickly followed by an attempt to punch me in the face.

Little bugger.


1 comment:

  1. OH DEAR GOD. That whole joke thing doesn't get any better. My son's 11 and I still find myself crying into my wine every night when he delivers a new joke.

    Steel yourself for several more years.... well, until he's 18 I guess.
    And then you can change the locks.

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