Thursday, November 29, 2012

Yep, it's definitely alive


I used to wonder what Dr. Frankenstein must have felt at the precise moment when he realized that not only had he created a monster, but he’d created a monster.

I no longer have to wonder.

Last night Brady and I were cuddled in our denim overstuffed chair, preparing for today. I’d worked late, and had given him precise instructions by telephone earlier in the evening that if he would have his bath taken, jammies on, and teeth brushed by the time I got home we’d be able to play for a bit before he went to bed. To my surprise, not only had he done everything I’d required of him, he’d also pulled one of his toy boxes out into the living room.

The sole contents of this particular toy box, as it so happens, are the various bodies and body parts of probably twenty different Mr. Potato Head figures. There was Texas Rangers Potato Head. Dallas Cowboy Potato head. Old School Mr. Potato Head. You get my point. None of the MPH (Mr. Potato Head) figures were put together, which if you’ve ever spent any amount of time playing with MPH (much easier, right?) in your life then you know the limitless options that lie on the operating table before you – sort of a kid-friendly version of Frankenstein’s Monster in which you can hide random, leftover body parts in its hiney.

Before we could get down to the business of creation, though, Brady and I had an important matter to handle first.

I submit to you the following document, an account of the conversation that transpired between father and son, co-creator and createe.


Fade In:

INT. LIVING ROOM – NIGHT

BRADY (5) dressed in blue flannel button-up pajamas littered with snowmen and hair still wet cuddles with BRAD (37) in an oversized denim chair that’s seen better days, and in those days, lots of moments like this one. They are father and son.

BRAD
We’ll play Mr. Potato Head in a second, but
first… isn’t there something you want to ask me?

BRADY
                                    No.

                                                                        BRAD
                                    I think there is.

                                                                        BRADY
                                                            (giggling)
                                    Not really.

                                                                        BRAD
                                    Okay, if you say so. I’ll give you one more chance,
                                    then I won’t ask you again.

                                                                        BRADY
                                    Do we want to watch Survivor while we cuddle?

                                                                        BRAD
                                    That’s not it.

                                                                        BRADY
                                    Do we want to eat Oreos while we cuddle?

                                                                        BRAD
                                    Not it either.

Brady laughs. Not a silly, fake laugh, but one that suggests he’s only just begun with the witty banter and thinks he’s the funniest guy around.

                                                                        BRADY
                                    Doooooo you wanna play Hot Wheels?

                                                                        BRAD
                                    Nope.

                                                                        BRADY
                                    You wanna give me five dollars?

                                                                        BRAD
                                    Nuh uh.

                                                                        BRADY
                                    Twenty dollars?

Brad gives him a look. A get serious look.

                                                                        BRADY (con’td)
                                    A hundred dollars? Wait. A million dollars?

Yep, funniest guy around.

                                                                        BRAD
                                    Fine. If it’s not important to you, it’s not important to me.

                                                                        BRADY
                                    Okay, okay.

Brad slinks deeper into the chair. A moral victory.

                                                                        BRADY (cont’d)
                                    Daddy?

                                                                        BRAD
                                    Yes, Brady?

                                                                        BRADY
                                    Can I turn one hundred tomorrow?

Pandemonium ensues. A one kid laugh track.

                                                                        BRAD
                                    You know what? If that’s what you really want, then yes.
                                    Yes you can. By all means, turn one hundred tomorrow. Be
                                    old. Lose your hair. Lose your hearing. Lose your mind. Have
                                    fun pooping your pants again.

This grosses Brady out.

                                                                        BRADY
                                    Really?

                                                                        BRAD
                                    Yep. Old people do that. They can’t always control when and
                                    where they have to use the restroom.

                                                                        BRADY
                                    So they poop their pants?

                                                                        BRAD
                                    Why don’t you wait until tomorrow when you wake up and
                                    you’re a hundred. If you’ve pooped your pants you’ll know I
                                    wasn’t lying.

Brady’s scrunches his nose. One hundred doesn’t sound fun.

                                                                        BRADY
                                    Daddy, can I please turn one tomorrow?

Seriously?
                                                                        BRAD
                                    Sure, but you’ll still be pooping your pants, and
                                    you won’t know how to work the PlayStation anymore.

Brady gives it some more thought before locking eyes with Brad. It’s a war of wills, a Wild West showdown of sorts where new is trying to push out old. Old isn’t budging.

                                                                        BRAD (cont’d)
                                    We don’t have to do this. We can all wake up tomorrow
                                    and everything can still be the same if you want it to.

Brad makes a move to get up, catching Brady off guard. Brady stiffens, sensing the moment that could change his life forever is about to evaporate.

He grabs Brad’s face, cupping his father’s man-sized cheeks in his tiny hands.

                                                                        BRADY
                                    Daddy…can I please turn six tomorrow?

Brad thinks about it. No more fun and games.

                                                                        BRAD
                                    Will you still love me as much as you did when you
                                    were five?

                                                                        BRADY
                                    More.

                                                                        BRAD
                                    Oh yeah?

                                                                        BRADY
                                    Yep. I’ll be six, so I’ll be bigger. I’ll have more
                                    room in my body to love you.

Brad hugs Brady. This is the moment we’ve been waiting for. Old doesn’t have to give way to new – there’s room for them both.

FADE OUT.

THE END

Sentiment aside, that little turd played me the entire time. Brady knew, that with every turn in our conversation, he was baiting me. He understood that tradition has him ask me on the eve of his birthday for permission to turn the next age. It sounds weird, I know, but it’s all I have. The younger version of Brady eagerly complied. This new Brady 2.0, however, I wasn’t prepared for. It’s like he’s the Bionic Man of kindergarteners. Sure, last night everything turned out okay. But what happens when the day comes and it doesn’t? What happens when he says something so witty that even I don’t have a comeback for it? Daniel LaRusso was never better than Mr. Miyagi. Luke Skywalker didn’t best Yoda. Rocky never took a swing at Mickey.

And now, even as I write this, something Traci said to me reverberates through my mind. “What do you expect?  You created him.”