Bad Guys

GirlsGoneChild — Wed, 16 Sep 2009 22:50:00 GMT

Yesterday Archer came home from school and said a horrifying thing.

Responding to the sound of laughing voices outside he turned to me and said, "don't worry, Mommy, I'm going to shoot the bad guys with my sword!"

My jaw dropped. Up until yesterday he had never mentioned "bad guys" nor had an affinity for swords. Or shooting.

"Where did you learn about bad guys?"

"Harry...*"

"And where did you learn about shooting?"

"Harry."

"What else is Harry teaching you."

"Nothing. We were just playing superheroes and superheroes kill the bad guys with shooting them, mommy. It's okay."

"Um... actually it's not okay. Shooting bad guys is not okay," I said, before stopping myself. "I mean... unless these bad guys are trying to shoot you, in which chase, uh... I mean... actually. You can't... You're not supposed to... I- I- I- I..."

... gave up.

I didn't know what to say. Up until yesterday Archer had never mentioned swords or guns or violence of any kind. I managed to keep superheroes and "bad guys" and weapons and people behaving aggressively toward one another out of Archer's mind and day-to-day experiences. And even though I knew it was only time before this day would come, it still came as a shock to me.

I was unprepared. On one hand I was happy to hear him makebelieving with the other kids at school but at the same time? He was talking about shooting something with a sword. Bad guy or not, it was the last thing I wanted to hear.

"We don't shoot bad guys in our house, okay? Harry apparently has other rules but around here, everyone is a good guy, cool?"

Archer put down his make-believe weapon, shrugged and went to play Legos but I was shaking. Heartbroken. It was like watching my child strip himself of innocence in front of my eyes. I was unprepared. Completely. I've spent the last four years teaching Archer that the single most important thing a person can be is kind. Kind to themselves. Kind to other people and creatures, their planet, surroundings... no matter how awful things and people and the world can seem. No matter how painful a bee sting, you NEVER squash a bee. And now Archer was shooting things? Surely that was the MOST unkind act. And yet... trying to explain the whys and why nots seemed at once more violent than letting Archer go on with his friends and his make believe.

And so, I didn't bring it up again, dealing instead with my own arguing voices and angst.

Why must there be pain and bad guys and violence and darkness and swords that shoot bad guys. Why Why must superheroes fight violence with violence? Why must I be so naive? Why does Harry have to have such a BIG MOUTH?

The truth was, I wanted to strangle Harry. I wanted to strangle Harry's parents. I wanted to strangle the world for being so cruel and unfair and violent and painful.

But being the pacifist that I am, I simply cried.

***

*names have been changed

Hit Him and He'll Hit You Back

GirlsGoneChild — Sat, 27 Jan 2007 04:13:00 GMT

I don't condone fighting by any means. I'm into peace and love and vegetarianism. I don't agree with guns. Or the death penalty or spanking. Or even yelling. I'm all for passing the pipe and loving thy brother. I have never been fond of haters. Of any kind. I wish we could all just get along and make out with each other. Or at the very least, play nice.

When I was a little girl I was regularly pushed around. I grew up on a street full of boys who, annoyed with my cooties, threw rocks at my face, bitch-slapped me on the school bus and once gave me a concussion from pushing me off my bike. They called me "Becca woof-woof" when they weren't calling me other names like "Dog" and "Uglystupidface"

I tried to pretend like I didn't notice. I'd get back up, smile and hold back tears until I was alone. Or in the house where I would wail and scream and snort all over my mother's jeans.

I bought my own Vision skateboard and some Jimmy-Z shorts and tried to blend in with them. Maybe if I looked like less of a girl, they would teach me how to ollie off of their plywood ramp.

I had no idea how to stick up for myself. And you couldn't pay me to push someone back. Or talk back. Or anything.

I kind of assumed it was genetic and was afraid that Archer would be like me. Which is why when Archer got smacked in the face by the playground bully the other day, I did the cheerleading spirit-finger thingy when I saw him smack back.

It isn't that I advocate violence. Not at all. I just don't want him to take anyone's shit. Or get pushed off his bike without some kind of defensive strategy. Even if he is wearing a helmet for protection.

It's a crazy world, man. People don't play nice. I wish they did and we could all sit around in the sandbox and sing Koom-bi-ya, but we can't. People are angry. Crazy. Mean. And like to throw rocks in each other's faces.

And although two wrongs don't make a right, neither does one wrong and one weakling. I know because I was the child in the sandbox with sand in her eyes and bruises from the boys in the neighborhood, who sat there like an asshole, crying her eyes out.

And I REAAAAALY don't want that to be Archer. Because it sucked.

***

Straight from the Bottle : Violence

Bad Guys

Hit Him and He'll Hit You Back