I’m not referring to the complete “win” of a moment last week where I managed to completely forget parent/teacher conferences. I have plenty of excuses for that one. Actually, this has nothing to do with me cause I’m such a *cough cough* perfect parent and all. No, really, the forgetting of the conferences was SUCH a fluke.
Yeah, I don’t buy that either.
Yesterday morning, I took over sick child watch to let my husband get some sleep. Our youngest was struck with a nasty stomach bug off and on during the weekend and had it come back “on” Sunday night right after we decided to go to bed. My kids have radar like that to detect when is the opportune time to get sick all over the place.
Anyway, after that lovely night, I stumbled out of bed and into the living room, where my son had been up ALL night watching a variety of cartoons and kids movies. As I drifted in and out of early morning consciousness, he turned on “Dennis the Menace” on from Netflix. I know at some point in my lifetime I have seen this movie, but my mind likes to block it out. I never really cared much for the comic strip (which, by the way, 58 years old..sheesh!) or the movie, and as I lay there blinking at the tv, it occurred to me why: Dennis’s parents really suck at the whole parenting thing. Now I get that Mr.Wilson actually likes Dennis deep down, but think about the whole situation. What parent in their right mind would allow their 7 year old child run amuck throughout the neighborhood and terrorize a poor retiree? Sure, Dennis may “mean well” with his antics and such, but the relationship dynamic between Mr. Wilson and Dennis is still odd, to put it lightly. Now, granted, I don’t know if the dynamic is significantly different between an old dude and a girl vs old dude and boy, but I don’t remember being too friendly with the Mr. Wilson-esque characters in my neighborhood growing up. There were actually two of them. First was Ralph, the blatantly racist war veteran whose main fear rotated between someone walking in his yard and someone of the “wrong” skin color moving in the neighborhood. On a side note, I always thought his name was “Rowlf”..like the muppet.
not Ralph the neighbor
The other was Bob. Bob who laughed like a hyena and was always wearing short shorts and a safari hat, meticulously taking care of his lawn. He was the type to laugh at you if you fell on your bike, and then ask if his yard was ok. Good for a few jokes. I think at one point Bob and Not-Rowlf had a blowing up of sorts, but I don’t remember much about it. Probably a difference in lawn care opinions.
Anyway, while we were cordial-ish to each other, I sure the hell didn’t go traipsing about in their respective houses or knock on their door incessantly. That
would be weird, sorta like my neighbors who always seemed to be leering at us through the bushes. (Totally different ones than Bob and Not-Rowlf.) Sure, my mom was always excessively paranoid about adults, perhaps rightly so, but she would have grounded me if I disappeared into their houses for even a second.
Which brings me to Henry and Alice Mitchell. Really? It’s “okay” for your son to have a weird relationship with an older man? You’re okay with him barging in the house and bothering the poor guy when all Mr. Wilson wants is to enjoy the few good years of his life in peace and quiet before he is forced to put on Depends or starts developing dementia. Tell your damn kid to bother people his own age for crying out loud instead of shrugging it off like “Oh, you know how Dennis is. *wink wink*” Wake up, you damn fools!
Okay, I feel better having really stuck it too the fictional comic strip parents! Yeah! In your face, fake parents!