the poetrysheet
whimsy, subversion, bowling
Number 483, April 2, 2004
Isaac Goldemberg
(1945- )
“And
what pleasures and improvements do such deny themselves who scorn and avoid all
opportunity of intercourse with souls separate, and the spirits, glad and
sorrowful, which inhabit the unseen world!”
—The Botathen Ghost, Rev. S. R. Hawker
Protein
for pre-teens
By Rev. Dave DeChant
Before my daughter was born, I practiced babysitting as
much as I could tolerate. This amounted to about three times.
I watched my neighbor’s kids, Maurice, 10, and
Cameron, 1. Maurice was easy to watch because I have a Playstation. Cameron
presented a significant challenge. Come naptime, he didn’t sleep. Everyone else
in the house did but Cameron and me. We finally fell asleep on the couch at
3:30. Forty-five minutes later he filled his diaper (and I mean filled
his diaper).
That
was all the little-kid sitting I could take. I focused on the older kids after
Cameron because I, too, like Playstation.
So, I
invited my nephew, Devon, to spend the night and had Maurice over again so they
could wrestle and eat Doritos and other kid stuff until we all played video
games. As Devon’s uncle, my role is to let him cuss, watch whatever he wants,
pull my finger, and introduce him to the magical realm of R-rated movies.
There
was no surprise, then, when they begged me to take them to Freddy vs. Jason, which had been released that day. I called Dana,
Maurice’s mom, and asked her if it was OK.
“It is
okay with me,” she said, snickering, “…is it okay with you?”
“Sure,
it is just a movie,” I said. “How hard can it be to take two kids out for a
couple hours?”
Dana
just laughed. She knew something I didn’t.
The nearest
theatre showing the “film” was the Dekalb 16, and the only showing not sold out
was at 10:50 p.m. I was glad it was a late show because, mistakenly, I assumed
there would be no other kids there.
Right.
The show was full of swarming children from about six to seventeen years old.
We had to sit way up front, which made my goofy head (the only white-guy dome
other than my nephew’s) an easy target from behind. Peanut M&Ms really
hurt!
Some
teenagers fought and the police came and hauled them away, but the mayhem
resumed as soon as they exited. One girl near us left to puke twice and the
whole audience teased her. Where were the parents?
The two
kids with me were very appreciative to have gone. They talked throughout the
movie about what was real and what was “fakey.” Maurice turned his head during
the gratuitous boob scene, which I thought was noble of him since I would not
have done the same at his age (and didn’t now).
On the
way home we had a philosophical debate on who actually won, Freddy or Jason.
The director cleverly left the ending ambiguous. This which also sparked
conversation about possible sequels. Personally, I felt Jason was tougher, and
indeed won when he decapitated Freddy. But Freddy is more witty and cunning, so
he is the cooler of the two. Maurice agreed because it was Freddy, after all,
who brought Jason back from the dead to fight and kill again. Maurice, however,
didn’t find Jason the victor since Freddy’s severed head winks at the camera in
the final scene. Devon, just hands-down, thought there was no contest, and that
Jason—because he can’t be killed—triumphed both in the physical and the
coolness battles.
We
stayed up until 4:30 arguing and playing video games. All in all the night was
a blast, and I decided it was proof that parenting was fun and easy.
Now my
daughter, Cosette, is five months old and I realize I should have spent more
time with Cameron and that heavy diaper to really get a feel for parenting.
Cosette doesn’t even care about Freddy or Jason, and she is terrible at
Playstation games—even the easy ones. But I’ve become a diaper ninja, and have
mastered bathing, napping, and feeding—both for the baby and myself. I really
look forward to the day we can appreciate fine food and films together, but I
don’t want to skip the diaper stage—or any other stage—to get there.
I’m
sure Freddy and Jason will live to kill again.
Rev. David DeChant writes “The Deacon’s Beacon,” for The Cabbagetown Neighbor, and
contributes a monthly column to the poetrysheet. Have you checked lately for breast
lumps? Rev. Dave is available for a whole host of services at 404-822-4290.
By Philip Miller
Its green ranges between
fresh mint and hunter's green
watercress and wilderness:
it freshens then bewilders
with driving rains
laced sometimes with hail
that batters the crocus and the blooms
on apples trees, brings down
a green autumn, thundering
the beginning
of the end,
covering everything with leaves,
darkening the lawn
as breeze bends grass blades silver,
while it reseeds, restores the cycle
of come and go, rise and fall,
its new moon a sickle
gleaming in the violet sky,
says everything that would live and die,
will live to die again,
would tell us if it could,
"Change is good."
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