Raising a supervillain isn’t easy. Our third child, lady gangster Don Threeto, is dedicated to her dream of world domination and I’m coasting through how to guide her. Don’t get me wrong, I am against her decision for a life of crime but I think support from parents is important. Father figures are so pivotal in childhood development. Plus, I don’t want to be on her bad side when her powers are fully primed. You may not remember all the previous evidence but I have some recent evidence for the record books.
Item #1) We were having a story night and Threeto retold the story of the three little pigs. She placed herself in the role of the big bad wolf and somehow she never got to the brick house. In her version, she smashed the houses and ate the pigs… the end. I realize that she is probably serious because her favorite food is bacon.
Item #2) She totally wants to create weapons of mass destruction. I walked into the living room and found her assembling something out of wooden blocks and threaded rod. “What do you have there?” I inquired. She smiled and held it up proudly, “It is a Dragon Hammer!”. I breathed a sigh of relief. Maybe there was hope for her to be a valiant defender of the weak. Rushing into battle with her Dragon Hammer! I wanted to be sure of her change of heart so I asked a quick follow up question, “Oh so you have a hammer to fight dragons?” She shot me a blank stare and curled her upper lip a little. “No daddy. It is a hammer to help make dragons. Duh. A Dragon Hammer.” she looked at her tool and said thoughtfully, “He’s going to eat people.”
Item #3) She is powered by ice water in her veins. After the loss of Toby, she was wise enough to not talk too much about him for a couple of days. Then she had this conversation with her mother:
“Can I say the word Toby?” she asked innocently.
Supermom replied tenderly, “Yes honey, you can say his name.”
She looked at the floor and spilled out a weeks worth of stored up, “Toby toby toby toby toby”
“Maybe not constantly.” Her mother chided.
She looked Supermom in the eye. “I didn’t cry.”
“Okay well we all handle sadness differently.”
“I didn’t like him much.” She shrugged her shoulders.
Supermom glared and wisely warned her to, “Go play…”
Sometimes winning at parenting is knowing that the urge to punch your child is a misguided instinct.
If you are the kind of parent that wants their child to be the best at whatever their heart desires, this post is for you. Screw it, you go out there and be the best damned Sith Lord you can be. Build some dragons. Eat some pigs. Ignore your sadness. Who am I to say that isn’t the best choice?
-Underdaddy to the rescue.