My eight year old is such a sweetie pie. I know all parents say that about their kids. But, in this case it is very true. She says and does some of the kindest, most innocent things and I just know all of that is about to be soon interrupted when the world finally sinks its evil fangs into her.
While on vacation, she has become an expert in the field of frog catching. She stores them in this little plastic aquarium container her grandparents gave her. Through vast experimentation, we have learned that the frogs die if they stay in the container too long. So, the standing rule is that once apprehended, all frogs are only allowed to stay until the next morning. Then, they are to be released on their own froggy recognizance.
Today, she caught two frogs. She immediately named them both. One was named “Wartz” (it was my idea to add the “z” for pizzazz) and the other “Squirt”. Being the consummate sweetheart, she immediately donated Squirt to her little sister who during the frog catching times, generally fails miserably and gets pissed off. She was very pleased with Wartz and Squirt and was enjoying their company.
Then, it was time for us to go to the park so her mother could run and I could feed the bugs. She asked if Wartz and Squirt could come along. I reluctantly said yes, envisioning some disaster like the container toppling over in the car or something.
At the park, there’s another creek that is bigger and inhabited by ducks. When we arrived, my daughter had an idea:
“Daddy, can we release Wartz and Squirt in this creek so they will have a bigger and nicer home?”
“Sure”, I said figuring someday she’ll live in the suburbs and need to understand this mentality. I also figured we’d be getting rid of a liability.
She then emptied the container into the creek. And Wartz and Squirt swam away. And, there was much rejoicing. Yay!
Meanwhile, my daughters were temporarily distracted by the ducks. I watched Wartz swim away…
…and then, he was immediately chased down and eaten by a duck.
“Ducks eat Frogs?” I thought to myself. I guess I should have paid better attention in biology class. I thought ducks were herbivores.
Two seconds later:
“Daddy, where did Wartz swim to?” My daughter asked.
“Ummm…just over there. I think he found a new home!” I lied.
Later on that night, she kept commenting about how happy Wartz must be in his new home.
So, I told her “Wartz is Dead!”
Just kidding.
But. it made me think about how sometimes you have to shelter the ones you love from the truth about the world we live in, a world so cruel poor little Wartz wasn't allowed to enjoy his new bigger and better home...
...until he was abruptly turned into duck poop.
It makes you wonder.
I drank a couple of beers while writing this.
Bye.
About Me
- Mick
- In 1968, a baby boy was born and his parents named him Michael. As a cute little zero year old, he had a little round nose and made gurgly noises. But, he also had colic which tired his mama out and his grandmother often rocked him to sleep. One night, while doing this, she nicknamed him "Mickey" and that is why people also call him Mick. He grew up in upstate New York in a place too remote to be called anything. There were a lot of bugs and his Dad yelled at him for using too many paper towels. Little Mickey tried to have fun playing war with his friends and shooting BB guns. He didn't apply himself very much in school and he graduated high school Magne Cum Lousy. One day in 1986 he discovered a lump in his neck which he promptly ignored for more than 6 months. As fate would have it, it was Hodgekin's Disease and after months of dicking around with inept doctors, he promptly underwent aggressive treatment involving brutal tests and chemotherapy. This lasted a year followed by many years of paranoia. This is where he learned to suffer and it payed great dividends. Now he teaches 13th grade at a college in Ohio where he suffers daily.
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