Thursday, March 31, 2011

Monkey & The Dragon

Cash & Daddy's Second Year and a Half,

You don't have a lock on your bedroom door. Unfortunately, neither do Rachel and I. Further unfortunate is my sleeping position: closest to the door. Most unfortunate is your chipper demeanor at dawn.

My mornings are a struggle to climb above a dark, broiling fog upon Mount Doom. To be jolted awake by a serotonin-head that has recently mastered extraction from his crib is to tap into the animal mind. I understand why chimpanzees are fiercely agitated by the human smile.

This morning you sat on my face. I was dreaming of college classes I'd failed to attend when you plopped your poopy diaper on my head. I nearly tossed you across the bed when you made a most unusual statement.

"Daddy, I'm going to tell you a story."

I was thrown off by this. I am accustomed to being commanded to read you a story. The idea you were going to deliver me a story, one that originated from your two-and-a-half-year-old mind seemed, well, improbable.

I croaked, "What did you say?" You replied with clear confirmation of your intent and launched into the following soliloquy:

Once there was Green Dragon and a Monkey. The Green Dragon had no more fire in his mouth because he spent it firing Monkey's books. The Monkey had paper to write more books, but Green Dragon wouldn't share his pen. When Green Dragon saw Monkey cleaning the burned books, he felt bad and gave Monkey his pen. The End.

You ended with a smile. Did that just happen? Am I awake? I've never heard you tell a story much less one with a faint, perhaps mysterious plot. Did God just send me a riddle? What does this MEAAN?

Then it came to me in a flash. You like a good tale, your hair is getting redder, your eyes bluer, your skin fairer, your cheeks rosier, you behave like a leprechaun and you tell nonsensical though suggestive faerie stories ... we've got an Irishman in the family!