Unravelling the Devil's work

I am neither a soothsayer nor a sales person, but I would hazard a guess about the trajectory of many a child. They commence dabbling with dinosaurs, trundle into Thomas and his rabble, plunge into Pokemon and then yield to Yugio. After that, I seek input.

Each of these phases results in considerable financial investment by the parent, no matter how reluctant. To be fair I was quite happy with the first two, but seriously troubled by the third. To me, Pokemon were the lowest of the low, nasty, cheap little figurines. Although I knew nothing about them at all, I disliked the cartoons which to my untutored eye had an air of violence and brashness.

With all their obsessions to date, eventually, I have reluctantly capitulated. If you can no longer tempt a child to put a foot through their trouser legs with a smiley Thomas face, you have few options but to put a Pokemon scowl there instead, if you ever how to achieved 'dressed' status.

After two years in the Pokemon phase of development, they have infiltrated every nook and cranny of our daily existence. Their purposes as so many and varied, that life would come to a half without their motivational force. Now that I have watched the cartoons, I would acknowledge that they are largely innocuous, no worse and no better than others of their ilk. The predominant theme is 'good triumphs over bad,' which overall could be a darned sight worse. But I digress.

Firstly, I should point out that no-one is to blame for dropping little triggers into my children's life. I'm all for free speech, but sometimes a casual comment can worm it's way in to someone's psyche with unforeseen consequences.

I tuck them all in at night. Whilst I chat to his brother, I can hear the occupant in the next bed 'self talking': 'weavil, deevil, evil, meevil,' interspersed with giggles and mouth breathing gusts. I come to him, last one, the little one, his turn. Nearly seven already but with a speech delay. The 'delay' is catching up, the gap narrows. He may sound like a four year old with a mouth full of marbles but that should not deceive us.


"What it is?"
"What is what dear?"
"Dah 'evil'?"
"Evil? Well it's the worst of the worst, the baddest of the bad." He gasps wide eyed and claps his hands over his mouth, a sealant. I wait for further and better particulars.
"But dey are not dah badest of dah bad, day are da good guys!"
"Who are the good guys?"
"Da Pokemons!"
"Er yes, I think you're right. They are the good guys," I agree, wondering what the real issue is here?
"But, but, but.......she is telling dah lie?"
"Who is lying?"
"Da teacher!"
"Which teacher?"
"Da teacher who is being at my school."
"Which teacher?"
"Da one who is saying dat the Pokemons dey are evil."
Whilst I am tempted to ask again, I doubt if I will gain any further relevant nuggets of information. For them, like many children, most situations are black and white, the grey areas are few and far between. Now we have reached an impasse. Teachers are a given 'good,' therefore they do not lie. It's an area of cognitive dissonance, both facts cannot be true at the same time. He starts to bleat as his brain whirs to try and resolve the dilemma.
"You know how you like Goldfish?"
"Um...er.......yes." He pauses whilst my brain whirs too.
"You think they're the greatest, right?"
"Er.....yes." After each utterance he clamps his hands back over his mouth to stop additional words escaping in or out.
"You know that I don't like Goldfish right?"
"You don't like em?" He sounds genuinely.
"Have you ever seen me eat them?"

"Er no.."
"Why do you think that is?"
"Er.....coz I am a bad sharer?" Brilliant!
"Good answer, but no, it's because I don't like them, they're yucky for me." His eyes are on stalks of disbelief.
"But everybody......!"
"Not everybody. You remember people like different things?"
"Hmmmm......"
"And dislike different things."
"Er.....and fink different things?"
"Spot on! That's right. It's o.k. for people to think different things."
"She are not lie?"
"It's not a lie if that's what she thinks is it?"
"Er....no.....da o.k., ......I fink."
Horray! Now that's an outcome that I would never have predicted a few years ago, but I did mention that I'm a bit remiss in the fortune telling department. That's all we really want, just a little tolerance. It can go such a long way.

No beating around the bush

["Ben Ownby" Found Alive]

I print off the email from the school and march into the family room for a serious discussion. It has arrived minutes after I have read about a "safety" programme in what is clearly becoming "the State" that is ahead of the hunt.

I give them the pertinent facts gleaned from the warning notice from the school, once I have commanded their attention. [translation = no mean feat! Perhaps I should have done this one-on-one instead?] I quickly find that I have taken on the role of game show host.


'Silver Sedan car, white male with dark hair, 'help me find my dog' to one of the children at their school.'

A near miss for that child, who beat a hasty retreat to an adult. We cannot be as confident of a similar response.

“No a dog!” protests the superhero of felines. A group discussion ensues as the merits of saving various types of pets, but rapidly descends into a debate about species of animals. I corral them all in – back on topic. What would each of them do if faced with a similar situation?

Junior pipes up to declare that he would consider getting in the car if it were "golden" rather than silver. I suppress a sigh and sit on my hands to prevent myself from tearing my hair out.

Further talk assesses skin and hair colour. The colour combinations bear no resemblance to reality or racism, more Todd Parr. I am ready to lie down and die, because we are so far off track and nowhere near the real nub of the dilemma, indeed it would appear that no-one is even aware that there is a dilemma. As usual I have failed to take the time to think through the ramifications of such a topic.

My son back tracks to the make of the car, what exactly is a sedan? I am suddenly aware that I am not at all sure what a sedan is? Knowledge of cars is probably my weakest suit. I operate on a line of elimination – not a mini, not a lorry, not a minivan, not an estate. I know that I’m being cross continental, or maybe just cross, that my delivery only serves to further muddy the waters.

Junior is unconcerned with the type of car, but is keen to examine the potential make or brand of the "tyres" that any erstwhile pedophile might utilize. Grouchiness begins to overwhelm me as Junior quizzes us, as to whether or not ‘see dan’ is a compound word? When ‘sedan’ is broken into it’s phonetic parts. This gives cause for his brother to point out that it is merely two separate words, the verb ‘see’ and the man’s name, ‘Dan,’ providing further evidence of his aural processing skills and attention to his work sheets, where the character ‘Dan,’ features all too frequently for my liking.

I am ready to weep, but instead call for order in the house. Enough. Cease and desist! Attend to the matter at hand, namely abduction, which I refer to as theft. [of the person] I seem to be the only one flustered and frustrated.

Not for the first time, I have cause to recall that I often both mis-read and underestimate their abilities. Such an incident occurred when most of my children were permanently naked. [translation = no ‘dressing’ skills coupled with tactile defensiveness which made the texture of clothing abhorrent] I worried that they were unduly vulnerable, as they had no sense of ‘modesty.’ I was proved wrong during a visit to the ER, where my semi conscience non-verbal son, had a complete meltdown when a kindly female nurse attempted to "unbutton" his flies.

How come 'stranger danger' is so much more complicated these days? If they lured with candy, that would ensure that junior would be safe. [translation = the "neophobic" one] If the stranger sported an attractive bear T-shirt, that would mean my other son would be safe. [translation = "ursaphobia"] My daughter. I look at her giggling enjoying the fun with her brothers. Would "lizards" be her undoing?

I look at my rabble whilst my mind travels through the options of library books, "social stories" and modeling. If the cats have microchips why not the children? Isn't it enough that we have to worry about the "Houdini" issue without enduring further angst from abductors?
“What am I going to do?” I mutter under my breath. My daughter stops giggling to tell me, “it’s o.k. mum, they’re not stupid you know!”
We look one to another, and "another," and "another."

I know she’s "right."