My van kids liked my costume even though they didn't have a clue who I was supposed to be.
"You a man!"
"Yep."
"Who you s'posed to be?"
"Um...Che."
"Who?"
"Che. Che Guevara."
"Who?"
"A soldier."
They were on their best behavior that evening, though I did have a little trouble getting everyone in the van and buckled up. I think they were really excited about the Fall Festival, and they didn't want to get in trouble and not be able to go.
On the way home, they had a harder time behaving, especially a certain boy. You see, the kids were singing some song about an American Soldier (Don't ask me. I've never heard it before). I started thinking about why they were singing that song, and so I asked them if any of them knew someone who was a soldier.
"My dad's a soldier," one of the girls replied.
"Oh, really? Is he overseas right now?" I asked. But before she could reply, the certain boy I mentioned earlier interrupted with,
"My dad's a dirty old bastard!" I wish I could describe the raspy, high-pitched voice in which he said this. He and the other kids obviously found it hilarious. Truth be told, I had a little trouble not giggling myself. Of course, as the originator of law and order on the van, it was my duty to ask this boy to cease and desist. As usual, he chose not to comply. Every few minutes I would hear the phrase again:
"Dirty old bastard! Dirty old bastard!"
I continued to request his acquiescence, and he continued to refuse to grant it. I started to wonder if maybe I shouldn't just let it slide, especially in light of the fact that I had no moral objection to the use of that word. I was just conforming to the standards everyone expected me to uphold. Then I had an idea.
"You know, you should really think about the context when you use that word," I said.
"Huh?" answered the kids.
"Yeah, you should try to use words in the appropriate situations. If you just go around using that word all the time, it will become meaningless."
Blank stares and absolute silence. The girl sitting in the front seat next to me obviously thinks I'm crazy.
"Well, my dad thinks it's OK to use that word all the time!" offered the boy.
All the kids cracked up, but we were merely feet from their apartment complex, so I just reminded them to take all the pieces of their Halloween costumes with them. When I pulled up in their parking lot, they all jumped out as fast as they could. As they rushed off, I heard one of them shout,
"Old dirty bastard!"
Alas.
I told this story to several of my friends, and my friend M suggested that my discipline technique might be punishment by education. Oh, dear.
