My middle son Johnny is caught between two worlds. On the
one hand, he’s only 14 and still considers himself a kid. On the other hand,
he’s in high school now, so he’s beginning to grow up. One need look no further
than the mustache growing on his upper lip, and hear no more than the bass
tones of his voice.
He’s also the middle child, which is a very difficult
position. He’ll never be considered as responsible as his older brother, but he
can also no longer get away with some of the stuff his little brother still
does. To combat this incredible “unfairness” Johnny has deputized himself a
member of the Little Brother Police.
He doesn’t just report his little brother to higher
authorities (his parents); he takes matter into his own hands. No transgression
is too small for Officer Johnny to lay down the law.
“Your napkin belongs on your lap.”
“Your bedtime is 9:00.”
“You’re using that computer without asking Dad’s
permission.”
“Stop chewing with your mouth open.”
“Shouldn’t you be doing your homework right now?”
Each of these transgressions can lead to a warning, or
depending on the mood of Officer Johnny—something far worse. In those cases,
this is how the five step process works…
1. The arrest is made by Officer Johnny
2. The case is immediately presented to the jury of little
brother’s peer (Officer Johnny).
3. The verdict is guilty.
4. Little brother is sentenced by the judge (Officer
Johnny).
5. Justice (always some sort of physical force) is
administered by Officer Johnny.
That justice is swift, too. (Sometimes before I can even
make it into the room.)
Officer Johnny has an incredible grasp of the law. He has studied it
extensively, keeps voluminous records of where and when previous rules were
enforced. If those rules are not enforced exactly equally by the higher ups
(the parents), the officer has no choice but to take justice into his own hands.
I mean, let’s be honest, how is it possible to stand idly by while someone
watches television in the morning before school, when it was absolutely not an
option just five or six years earlier? Who could put up with that sort of
unfairness?
Surely not Officer Johnny.
In Officer Johnny’s defense, his interrogations are not
videotaped. They do, however, come with a soundtrack, and we’ve been told that
sometimes that soundtrack wouldn’t exactly synch up with the video, if you know
what we mean. In fact, a witness (oldest brother Tommy) has testified that the perp (youngest son Sean) has been known to scream in agony before any punishment was even administered.
There have also been a few cases of the perp throwing the first punch, and
immediately following that up with a very loud screaming “Don’t hit me,
(Officer) Johnny.”
Furthermore, this witness claims that the perp has been known to commit perjury
when questioned by the Supreme Court (Dad).
These criminals can be pretty savvy, but nobody ever said
that enforcing the law would be an easy task. Officer Johnny didn’t ask for
this job, but he remains ever vigilant; ready, willing, and able to take the
necessary steps to maintain the peace. Whether that involves physical force,
physical force, or some sort of physical force, Officer Johnny will be there,
nightstick in hand.
Unfortunately for Officer Johnny, our sources tell us that
there’s a fairly good chance that the perp is not always going to remain this
small in stature. In just a few years, he may even be taller, stronger, and
faster than Officer Johnny himself.
For Officer Johnny’s sake, we certainly hope he has prepared
himself for that reality.
(Postscript, 2024. Sean is now the tallest)
***
I would recognize that guilty look anywhere.
“What’s going on in here?” I asked Sean. My seven year old was sitting
silently on the chair pretending like nothing was going on.
“Nothing,” he said.
He subtly tried to cover the television remote with a nearby blanket.
“Were you watching TV?” I asked.
“No,” he lied.
“It’s OK,” I said. “You can tell me the truth. Were you watching TV?”
He lowered his eyes and nodded.
“That’s not a big deal,” I said. “You can watch TV if you’re all ready to
go.”
He was dressed. He had eaten breakfast. He had brushed his teeth. His
backpack was leaning against the front door, ready to go. I didn’t see what the
problem was.
“I don’t want to,” he said. Again, that guilty expression on his face was
unmistakable.
“What were you watching?” I asked.
“NOTHING!” he screamed.
I reached for the remote.
“NO, DAD! DON’T!” he screamed.
“Were you watching one of the pay movie channels or something?” I asked.
He shook his head.
“Well, then what’s the big deal?” I asked.
I clicked the remote and he squealed in protest. “NO, DAD, NO!”
As soon as I saw the image on the screen I understood. He fell to his knees
at my feet, his hands clasped together in praying position.
“Please don’t tell Tommy & Johnny,” he said. “Pleeeeeeeeease. Please
don’t tell them.”
“You know,” I said, desperately trying to keep a straight face, “there’s
nothing wrong with watching Dora.”
“But Dora’s for girls,” he said from his knees, his hands still clasped
together.
“That’s not true,” I said. “Your brothers watched Dora occasionally when
they were younger.”
His eyes lit up. “Really?”
“Really.”
Sean got up, and began to run out of the room. I called after him before he
could turn the corner.
“And if I hear you making fun of them for that,” I said, “I’ll tell them you
were watching it too.”
He stopped in tracks. He turned around and looked at me. Sure enough, that
evil grin was right where I thought it would be.
“Darn,” he said.
Watch it, kid. I know you better than you know yourself.
(Postscript 2024: I'm featuring this piece because Dora the Explorer debuted this week in 2000.)
