The Gargamel Complex
My three year old niece is frightened of cows. For Halloween last year she wore a cow suit - one of those cute kid ones with a holstein-patterned body and a hood with ears and horns. When her parents plopped her in front of a mirror and asked her what she was, she said "...scary...monster!"
My instinct, of course, is to get a cow suit of my own and wear it whenever I visit her house. Or at least make aggressive "moo!" noises whenever I see her. Not that her mother would be too happy about that. Last year I was at their house and the child just older (4 at the time) than the cow-stricken munchkin was refusing to brush her teeth. I told her there were nasty bugs on her teeth that she needed to get off and the only way she could do it was to use a toothbrush. She went pale and wide-eyed, slapping at her mouth as she ran to her mother in the bathroom. I guess she still has trouble with the idea that insects might be creeping out of her gums at midnight. Her mother isn't too happy about that, either. But hey, she did brush her teeth.
The weird thing is, I actually like kids. I always have, and I'm even more fond of them since having one of my own. Yet I am somehow compelled to strike fear into their tiny hearts with tales of absurd fauna. I have many other examples that I think my wife has catalogued with chagrin. One of my favorites involves educating my nephews on the existence of toe-eating garden weasels as they tromped barefoot through Nana's garden.
My son doesn't quite have the language skills yet to properly appreciate father-instilled fear and dread, but I'm sure I will soon be regaling him with tales of rabid hamster packs that seek out and maim children who whine too much. As soon as he knows what a hamster is, anyway.
My instinct, of course, is to get a cow suit of my own and wear it whenever I visit her house. Or at least make aggressive "moo!" noises whenever I see her. Not that her mother would be too happy about that. Last year I was at their house and the child just older (4 at the time) than the cow-stricken munchkin was refusing to brush her teeth. I told her there were nasty bugs on her teeth that she needed to get off and the only way she could do it was to use a toothbrush. She went pale and wide-eyed, slapping at her mouth as she ran to her mother in the bathroom. I guess she still has trouble with the idea that insects might be creeping out of her gums at midnight. Her mother isn't too happy about that, either. But hey, she did brush her teeth.
The weird thing is, I actually like kids. I always have, and I'm even more fond of them since having one of my own. Yet I am somehow compelled to strike fear into their tiny hearts with tales of absurd fauna. I have many other examples that I think my wife has catalogued with chagrin. One of my favorites involves educating my nephews on the existence of toe-eating garden weasels as they tromped barefoot through Nana's garden.
My son doesn't quite have the language skills yet to properly appreciate father-instilled fear and dread, but I'm sure I will soon be regaling him with tales of rabid hamster packs that seek out and maim children who whine too much. As soon as he knows what a hamster is, anyway.
posted by Dean at 9/13/2005 11:35:00 AM
0 Comments:
Post a Comment
<< Home