One of the tough parts of being an only child is the loneliness. We live in the country, and most of the kids in our subdivision are somewhere between nine and thirteen years old. My kid is six and a half. That’s a bit of an age difference, but boys can always seem to find a common play interest. Gotta bike? Cool, c’mon. Hockey stick? You’re in. Wanna see a dead gopher my Dad shot that the crows have eaten the eyeballs out of? DO I! It seems the movie ‘Stand By Me’ rings wholly true when it comes to boys. Anything gross, tricky or dangerous to the point just shy of death can bring them together regardless of age or economic standing. Just as long as you are not a cry baby. Then you suck.

The local boys have started to include my boy. He’s old enough now. And he doesn’t cry.

Great by me. But, they have to come here or be in my yard. I make them fries, give them juice. I don’t hover but am always within proximity. They are respectful, say please and thank you and clean up when they are done. I’m the mom in the ‘hood the others can trust.

My neighbour’s kid came over for a couple of hours. He’s twelve. His folks aren’t together, they work a lot, and he seems to have spent too much time with games and computers. I think he likes our family and he’s kind to my boy. He asked for some paper to play Dungeons and Dragons. I know it’s a fantasy game and I just assumed it was about dungeons and dragons. Apparently, I am stupid and do not know what those words mean.

When I went to tidy up, I found this:

What. The. Fuck?

First off, I  have to give this kid a shout out for artistic merit. This boy has one hell of an imagination, although, granted, a bit violent. Okay, really fucking violent but whatever. They were never alone and after this never will be. I don’t think he’s dangerous but I think he’s had free reign over the remote.

I want to go through this picture a bit.

First off, why is this rogue named ‘Stubby’? That’s not a scary name! Stubby’s the short guy from high school whose folks bought him a car so you’d hang out with him. He’s the guy who always had cash and beer. He’s the guy who took the leisure of an extra three years in grade ten just to get to the top of the social scene. Your parents always liked Stubby, even though they watched him.

‘Who drove you home?’ ‘Stubby.’

‘Who helped you clean the garage?’ ‘Stubby.’

‘Who drove your mom home from the bar?’ ‘Stubby.’

‘Who took your virginity?’ ‘Stubby. Oh, wait…’

Maybe Stubby does have a secret homicidal streak I’m just not aware of, but for chrissake! Look at him! He’s got a goddamn curling rock for a hat!!! That’s got to hurt. And piss a guy off.( The rock hat may explain the lack of stature. Those things are heavy!!!)

The immunity to ice? Wrong, wrong, wrong! NO ONE is immune to ice. Ice is awesome. Cools your drink, makes boo-boo’s better. If this kid thinks ice is a weapon, he needs my motherly touch more than I know.

The ‘shiv’.

I was 39 years old before I knew what a shiv was. I know, I’m sheltered. Every prison show I watched, when they talked about a shiv, I truly thought they were just saying knife wrong. I felt so sorry for the guards. I was all like, “Listen to them! They’re illiterate! They’re just making a guess at the word knife and fucking it up! So sad.” My husband finally explained it to me. I said something like, “Ohhhhhhh. I get it. Still doesn’t make sense, but I get it. Want a sandwich?”

Now I want a sandwich. I digress.

The order of the violent “talents” for this rogue ? All wrong. To be most effective, it should read like this:

1. Sap the guy. (To knock him down.)

2. Stab him. (So he doesn’t get back up.)

3. Backstab.(Only if he tries to get up.)

4. Double backstab.(Fuck me, why won’t this guy stay down HOLY JESUS! HE’S A ZOMBIE! I FUCKING KNEW IT WHEN HE WOULDN’T STAY DOWN!!!)

5. Agility.(Obviously. Jump fences, dodge cars to get away from said zombie.)

6. Thow shiv. (It can’t help you anymore. Don’t get weighed down.)

Where has common sense in kids gone?  If you are going to slaughter, do it right.

I always knew I’d find horrible things in son’s room one day, but I thought it’d be more along the lines of  garter snakes and dirty magazines. And yes, the neighbour kid needs me a lot more than I thought. He needs me to teach him what the words dungeon and dragon mean. He needs to learn it’s only okay to draw people like this only if they are going to kill zombies. He needs to learn a less angry, scary and stab-filled form of play.

To that end, today I bought a big puzzle for the boys to do. It has ducks on it. I may not be able to help him, but perhaps I’ll bore him to the point he won’t come over anymore. I’ll let you know how it goes.