Dead Seriously.

Remember in Kindergarten Cop* when the Governator was first trying to get to know all the kids in the classroom so he could figure out which one had weird daddy-issues, so he’d know who was the son of the drug lord he was chasing after? It’s the same part where, among other things, you get a lesson in male and female genitalia from a 5-year old kid named Joseph (5th quote from the top, if you need help in this department).

I love that movie.

If you remember, there was also the kid–Zach, if I remember right–who always sat back at the back of the room, ramming two trucks into each other while the other kids called him a Poo-Poo-Head and a Cock-a-Poo-Poo. Arnold initially thought that this kid was the likely son-of-a-drug-lord, and took a lot of interest in figuring out the home life situation for young Zach. Well, if you haven’t seen the movie, I’ll ruin it and say it turned out that Zach’s dad wasn’t the bad guy; he was just a child-and-spouse-abuser.

To make things right, Arnold decided to let the abused young Zach carry the class’s pet ferret. Of course, this was successful and Zach became a happy little boy.

The reason I bring this up is that, when I went to drop off my son in nursery today at church**, none of the regular “teachers” were there, so more or less all of the parents ended up sitting in for portions of the two hour block, myself included. While I was sitting there, I looked around the room and noticed that lots of the little boys in the room were banging cars and trucks against each other. However, only one of them was sitting behind all the rest of them, off by himself: my son. He’s never really been a big social butterfly–he was genetically doomed in this respect the second his privacy-loving mother and father hooked up. However, when I watched him sitting in the back of the room ramming a plastic truck into the wall and saying “Smash!” to no one in particular, I realized that all it would take is a few kids calling him a Poo-Poo-Face before Arnold Schwarzenegger would be utterly convinced that I am a drug lord. I wonder if the other parents in the room thought I was a drug lord. I hope so. But I hope they don’t think I’m a child-or-spouse-abuser.

I am comforted by the fact that if Arnold dug hard and got my son to open up to him like young Zach did, he’d find that even if I’m no drug lord or child abuser, I’m certainly a corrupter, since I teach him to say things like, “Taxing is theft” and “Who is John Galt?” and “Meh” to anything a politician like Arnold says. At the very least, my son would get to carry the pet ferret during a fire drill, which would probably make everything all better.

*Any time a post has “Kindergarten Cop” in the first sentence, you should probably stop reading. There is no deeper meaning to be found here…just rambling.
**Sometimes I like to stay in nursery to avoid Priesthood meeting, but not today. No sir. The last Sunday of the year in the Harbor Hills Ward is the official “Milk and Cookies Day”, brought to you by the High Priests. Essentially, all the men gather in the gym, cancel lessons, and eat cookies and drink milk. This is done in protest to the fact that the men get diddly-poop on Father’s day, while all the women get geraniums or some other potted flower on Mother’s Day every year. I love Milk and Cookie Day.