Skip to main content

Hello, Clarice

Once upon a time ago, my son ate an ant.
It was pretty gross, I guess, because he never ate another one.
He was 20 months old and the fact someone told him to do it absolved him from murder in my eyes.

6:30 p.m.

"Mom!" my son exclaims, running into the living room in his sandaled feet. "Where is my water bowl?"
"With the outdoor toys, silly," I reply.
"Oh," he utters, as he runs back off. I watch him bring the large blue bowl to the kitchen sink to fill it up.
He brings the full bowl out into the living room, armed, I notice with a blue and red squirt gun.
"There are two earwigs outside," he says, nodding at me.
I guess I am suppose to understand.
"Soooo, you are going to attack?" I ask.
He pulls his little blonde head slightly back and looks at me. Now he shakes his head at me. He sighs.
"I put some ants in here yesterday. They don't really swim well," he says to me, then turns and walks out.
I stand there, a million thoughts racing rapidly through my mind all at once.
Then I roll my eyes.
I could let this whole I-might-be-raising-a-serial-killer thing get to me.
But everyone knows the absolute worse thing you think of never happens.

Comments

Anonymous said…
My child has a mouse skull in a jar, wrapped in a little blanket, a plastic egg with her dead fly, Buzz, in it, and once put a toad in her pocket which got washed in the washing machine. I hope you don't let your son's bug thing get to you because I think they have to progress to killing puppies to classify!
Thursday, 12 August 2004 at 17:20:00 GMT-4
Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

The Village Itself

Across the road from my home is an apartment building. It is made of brown brick and has three stories. It also has plenty of windows I often forget about while I go about my daily and nightly routines. I also forget my curtains are white, lacey and see-through scraps purchased from an aisle in Wal-Mart. Fifteen apartments. That may all house people with binoculars. It was the muggiest night this past summer had owned. Brenda was down for a visit and when she comes, it usually means a night spent over on my couch for her. Brenda lives in another town. It was one in the morning, no sleep to be found between the two us. We sat slouched on my front porch trying to capture the occasional breeze offered, sucking it deep into our lungs, praying it would cool us down. Our glasses of Pepsi sweated warning us how warm the drink would taste in our mouths. "Tilly! Tilly!" the shout sat our spines straight as we looked across the street to the where the sound was coming fr...
17 comments
Read more

Rosy Cheeks

My son's circle and lined wall, created with the permanent red marker, became something he liked to show-off. I guess the other kids who come here liked it, too.   I guess he wanted to show-off more. That is one of the many hypothesis I have about how the Map of Africa came to be. I just keep hoping my kid is some kind of odd little genius.  On the morning I discovered the map of Africa, I was not speechless and I could breathe. "What is this?" I demanded. And loudly. My son shrugged his shoulders. "I like it. It's nice. Took a long time." He had chipped paint off the wall. His walls are white. That morning, it was discovered his room used to be beige.   And it was starting to look like a room in an abandoned house. I thought to myself that maybe this look would be the in thing  20 years from now and he could make millions. He could be a visionary. It was a good enough excuse for me to leave the room. I used it...
22 comments
Read more

..What Are You Waiting For?

She had a real calm smile; it took its time creeping up into her eyes. And there she was looking up at me. She was sitting, right down there on the sidewalk, up against the wall of the bank. Her hand was wrapped around a red pen; buried into a magazine. And I was walking by her. Her eyes were brown. I did not smile back at her. One can never be too sure about anyone who is downtown. A few days later; it was grey and chilly, and I saw her again. With the same simple smile; this time growing into recognition. She stood just inside the entrance way of the video store, ducked, despite the fact she was barley five feet tall and the doorway was at least ten. Funny girl, I thought. Her smile passed by quickly, and then she bent her head down, to the inside of another magazine. She took a long, lipstick drag off a cigarette. "What are you doing?" she asked, when I was passing by her a day and a half later. And I stopped my step, for I was truly stumped. I looked down at my br...
11 comments
Read more