Meta

I’ve been filling out the insanely detailed liability/permission forms for L’s summer camps.

(Seriously, folks, this isn’t a college application. He’s in SECOND GRADE. It’s SUMMER CAMP.)

There are questions about likes, dislikes, personality traits, is he an all-in kid, toe-first… I’m to answer these questions, then he’s to answer these questions, then I guess we should seek an impartial party to answer the questions, as well.

We’re nearing the finish line and there’s a section where the camp asks him to “draw or write about some of his favorite activities, hobbies, friends.” I keep checking to make sure this isn’t a dating site (“sunsets, long walks, coffee in bed”).

I sit him down and say, “okay, let’s get her done. Will you draw an activity that you like?”

Mister Sly comes up with this: (It’s L drawing L drawing… Heh heh heh.)

LincDrawingLinc

TV Is Bad

Dad is out of town, traveling for work. L and I swing by a local pizza joint for a to-go pie. We look up and there he is…

The Great and Powerful Oz. No, not the guy behind the curtain. The one who has a television show which, up until yesterday, I’d never seen.

The subtitles are flying by, (phonetically spelled, always a plus for a kid), and suddenly we realize this Great and Powerful Oz is talking about the dangers of eating (too much) red meat, the alarming rate of salmonella in poultry, not over-indulging in calcium…

Animated visuals are showing platelets zipping through the bloodstream like pinballs, an ominous buildup of plaque. Ultimately, we see a heart cease to beat (in cartoon, natch).

L: “Ack! I don’t think I’m going to eat red meat anymore. I barely do anyway.”

L: “Is hamburger considered red meat?”

L: “What did it say about turkey?”

L: “So milk is bad? Should I stop taking my vitamins?”

I do what any good, responsible parent would: I pull out my iPhone and command him to play.

L has been thrown off the scent.

All I can think is “The Exorcist” might have been less traumatic.

oz

Closer

L and I are listening to the radio.  “Same Love” cues up. I’m awed and amazed by this song. We’ve discussed being gay before. L asks again, “what does it mean to be gay?” I’m ready to launch into a long, sensitive tutorial on the subject. I’m interrupted at word three.
L: “Okay, so it’s like if two girls or two boys like each other. Like, LIKE each other. Love each other.”

Yep.

“And then they get married.”

Hopefully.

“So, basically everyone is entitled to their own thoughts and feelings. Got it.”

No Trouble with Tribbles

Epiphany! I’ve come up with a television show that will be spot on for L. The O.G. “Star Trek.” Campy, science-y, funny, action-y, and most importantly, no blood.

I begin describing when it was made (“Did they even have television back then?”), and that it’s an awesome, cool show that I think he’ll like. I zero in on “The Trouble with Tribbles” episode because it’s… well, of course, it’s my favorite. Cute, furry little creatures (they could be easily itty bitty wee ponies, little girl crack).

We start watching a 10 minute segment and L says, “This is silly. This is not anything like the new one. The special effects are lame.”

I am bereft.

Cue to later in the afternoon. I pick L up from school. He has a drawing in his hand.

WHAT? CAN IT BE? YES! (Fist pump.)

The drawing is a schematic rendering of a Tribble, their size, the sounds they make, “fun facts.” I’m elated. (And, I forgive his spelling errors.)

We get home and he says, “say, can we watch the whole episode? I realize something. I think the old Star Trek is cooler than the new one. Because you get to see people’s expressions and Spock is awesome and really smart.”

I have done my job.

Tribble! copy

OG Tribble