One of the greatest questions we can ask ourselves is what goes on in the minds of our children. What do they dream about? What do they aspire to be? What kind of nightmares haunt them in their waking hours?
As for me, I'm usually just trying to figure out how the figure on the paper they've massacred with their crayons even vaguely resembles a "doggy."
Back in early May, Justin was invited to compete at a Kearn's Math Masters competition. We were all excited for him, because even though he absolutely hates math, he's good at it. What better way to encourage him than to show up and cheer him on?
Unfortunately, Justin didn't win, but that didn't put a damper on our excitement. He had to pose for all kinds of pictures from all our family members. That gave me the chance to look around at the elementary.
I don't know if you've noticed this, but elementary schools are weird. They're all about encouraging kids to learn, so the walls are filled with student work. Drawings are crude and blindingly colorful. Reports are typed in large, friendly fonts. It's absolutely nothing like a college.
All elementary schools, for example, have that big bulletin board up by the main office that shows off some of the kids. When I was little, the whole school had to draw pictures of flags in order to represent where our families came from, and mine made the board. I was proud of it for about three days and then promptly ignored it because it was boring again. The same thing had (probably) happened to these kids.
Instead of flags stapled to the board, various eight by eleven pieces of paper were scattered around the words "Dream To Be" placed in the immediate center. One child wrote a short report on his or her dream to be a famous DJ one day. Another had written what seemed to be a poem. And there, nestled in the midst of it all, was this:
At first glance, it didn't seem like much. For some reason, Mario had snuck his way onto the page underneath the heading "New Super Mario Bros. Art & Pictures." I didn't really understand why Mario was there, but my attention quickly drifted to the other side of the page. It looked like Fix-It Felix was hanging out in the forest with a well-dressed tentacle man. It seemed strange, although not disturbing.
Until the note on the tree caught my attention.
The blank section of the tree trunk caught my eye first. "NO NO NO NO," it said, accompanied by a stick figure with strangely long and droopy arms. I couldn't believe what I was seeing. "No," I whispered to myself. "No, this can't be right. What child would create this? What adult would allow this to be hung up in the front of the school?" But, sure enough, as I looked back at the tentacle man, I knew I was right.
The child had drawn Slenderman.
Although he wasn't exactly "slender," it was clearly him. The blank and bloody face. The suit. The red tie. The tentacles. The thought bubble that said "Die!" The knife in his left hand was a new feature, though. I was impressed with the child's ingenuity. If Slenderman wasn't scary and deadly enough, he had now been given a weapon other than his supreme tentacles of mass destruction. He had been given a bloody dagger. All those who had brushed him off before must now be shaking in their boots at the horrible, terrible, deadly knife held by the faceless specter.
"Oh, Felix," I whispered in horror, "What have you gotten yourself into?" I couldn't stop staring at the picture. How had one of my favorite Disney characters found himself in the same picture as such a dangerous weapon, let alone Slenderman? I had finally noticed the giant letters V and S on either side of the middle dividing line. So, it was to be war between them. I sighed. Felix and his trusty hammer didn't have a chance. He was certainly correct in his thought of "oh ou."
But
was that Felix's hammer? Something didn't feel quite right. I leaned in closer to examine it. Surely, Felix had his hammer. It was part of his identity. Why would he swap it for another weapon?
I was in for yet another shock.
This imposter was likely not Fix-It Felix, and what he held in his hand was not his trusty golden hammer given to him by his father. No, it wasn't a hammer--it was much too blocky and not very golden. It was then that I saw the small lettering, revealing what it was. It was an "AK-4
67," bright and shiny and new, just waiting to take down that awful knife.
I don't know the outcome of the fight, let alone the fate of the child who witnessed such an encounter between a bloody knife and a fake Fix-It Felix. I can only hope it resulted in happiness for the innocent Slenderman held captive by the blade.
