There Might Be A Small Mess
20 August 2013
“I don’t want to be called cute or handsome or anything else that makes me adorable. I want to be feared.”
“This life jacket breaks my style.”
“Um, there might be small mess.”
Enzo and a younger kid (boy around five) at the playground. I didn’t hear the beginning of this conversation.
Younger Kid: “Can’t you buy a dad?”
Enzo: “That’s impossible.”
Younger Kid: “Was he mad at you?”
Enzo: “No. I’m never going to have a dad. Both my moms had eggs and you need sperm so…” And then they move off out of earshot.
A few minutes later the kid runs off and I walk over to where Enzo is standing on a piece of playground equipment. His head is down and shaking a bit. He’s wearing a hat. I think he might be crying, but he’s not. He’s sort of half-laughing and shaking his head. “That kid is so immature. He asked me everything about me. He said everyone has a dad, but that’s not true. Some people don’t even have a mom. That kid was getting on my nerves.”