B is for . . . bad influence

02 May 2010 09:10 AM Categories: The kid

The kid is fascinated with swords and guns and soldiers and violence. Perhaps it was a mistake to expose him to the Best of Looney Tunes DVD or to tell him stories involving sword play. At first it was cute, the way he played Wile E. Coyote, ran around his small preschool and sometimes chased other kids coyote-style. And many little boys like to wield sticks as swords. But then he became attached to the cartoon where Yosemite Sam is a prison guard. The kid started trying to haul the other children off to the small playhouse on the preschool grounds, telling them he was taking them off to prison.

There’s nothing like picking up your son from preschool where many of the other, much smaller, kids are talking about “pwison,” knowing who exposed them to that grownup concept. The kid is the oldest there by almost a year and sometimes two, which is a big deal for the under four set. He spent his first year and a half at this place just watching, sitting on the bench and observing, so we (and, more importantly, the preschool director) decided it was a good idea for him to stay while other kids his age moved on. And it's been wonderful to see him change from the boy on the bench to the kid running around and having fun. He's ready now to play with kids his own age and we are looking forward to kindergarten in the fall.

But at the moment there's the weapon thing (swords and now guns, with a vengeance) and the prison thing, which can sometimes cause discord. And on Friday evening, when we were talking about war and soldiers (thanks, Looney Tunes – "Bunker Hill Bunny" and National Geographic – article with a picture of woman whose legs were blown off by a land mine in an issue with something innocuous, like dinosaur fossils on the cover), I decided to bring up the song “War” as sung by Frankie Goes to Hollywood on YouTube. For the music. But, oh – the footage, compelling black and white shots from WWII (and perhaps earlier) of soldiers with guns and grenades and that picture of dead bodies piled in a foxhole. I think he should start to get an idea of what it's all about, war, or at least that part of it is about death, and he seems to understand on the level he needs to now, so I don’t mind him seeing those fixed images so much. We talk about them, the weapons and the damage done. What I know is going to come back and bite me is the line he fixated on: “Who wants to die?”

Monday afternoon I’ll pick him up at preschool. He’ll be there in his cop hat/helmet, climbing a hay bale castle, screaming “Who wants to die” at the top of his lungs. The other kids, the two- and three-year-olds and four-year-olds, might be shouting it, too, to the best of their ability. If I’m lucky, he won’t start planting “land mines” there, like he did in the park last week, me trying to play along (wan smile, less enthusiasm) while also trying to explain how terrible land mines were.

“These are cartoon land mines, Mom,” he told me. We talk about it. He knows the difference. Anything with a trigger, full of explosive capability, is huge fun, as long as no one gets hurt.