Let the Wild Rumpus Start

I spend my days working with children of all ages and am consistently amazed by what incredibly imaginative, random and largely ludicrous comments they make. It almost makes up for their manushydrosopaphobic (my version of a hand washing phobia), paper ripping, water spilling, Kleenex avoiding, work stalling, and table kicking predilections. Today’s example: "Max" – a seven year old, sandy haired boy with a gift for masticating rubber erasers.

Today Max was in fine form, deftly appropriating my wrapper-fresh Staedtler Mars Plastic eraser. After rescuing the innocent chunk of rubber from his vice-like jaws, we started to discuss the orthographic tendencies involved in spelling the word “back” (i.e. discovering what letters/letter combinations can make the /k/ sound and then testing each option). While this activity proved to be incredibly engrossing to the small boy, somehow (surprising, I know) his attention was diverted to drawing pictures in the margins of the lined paper.

I decided to indulge him for a few minutes and asked him about what he was drawing. He showed me a charming set of monsters, each in the process of either tearing or burning some poor stick person to pieces. A conversation ensued as follows:

J: Are your monsters good or bad?
M: Definitely good...but they're not MY monsters.
J: Whose are they then?
M: They're the monsters that fight for God.
J: But doesn't God have angels to do that?
M: Ya, but angels can't pee fire!

Touche, Max. Touche,
J