“I’m scared, Daddy.”
“Are you, mate? What’s up?”
“Can you stay with me for a little while?”
“You bet. What’s on your mind?”
“I’m scared of the dark.”
“Scared of the dark, eh? I can understand that.” (There’s greatness in this little boy. But there’s someone else here right now as well. Where are you? You’re not supposed to be here. You’re just passing through. So where are you?)
“Do you get scared of the dark, Daddy?”
“No, mate, I don’t. The dark don’t bother me at all. But I get scared of other things.” (Where are you? I know you’re here).
“What do you get scared of, Daddy?”
“Oh, I dunno. I guess maybe I get scared of something happening to you or Mummy. Silly really, eh? To get scared of something that’ll probably never happen? Or to get scared of something in my imagination? Something that’s not real at all? But I guess everyone’s scared of something. Even the big kids at school. They’re scared of looking like idiots in front of their mates. There’s no shame in being scared.” (Where are you?)
“I’m scared there’s a monster under my bed.”
(There you are. Knew you were here somewhere. Come on then, let’s have a look at you). “A monster under your bed, eh? That would be scary.”
“Yeah. Do you get scared of monsters, Daddy?”
“No, mate, not me. I faced all my monsters a long time ago.” (Let me in, Kai. Let’s have a look at him. Let’s see what he’s all about. He’s only passing through).
“I’m not scared of monsters when you’re with me, Daddy.”
(There we go). “Are you kidding? No monster’s going to get past me! I’d say, ‘Come on, you ugly old monster! You don’t bother me!'”
“Yeah,” laughing, “You’d flop him in the mud, wouldn’t you, Daddy?”
“You better believe it! I’d say, ‘Flop on over into that mud, you old monster, you.'”
“So if there was a monster, what would he look like?”
“He’d be pink and full of holes and look like a tree.”
“Pink and full of holes and look like a tree? I’ve never heard of such a monster! What kind of a monster is pink and full of trees and looks like a hole?”
“No, not full of trees and looks like a hole. Full of holes and looks like a tree, you silly.”
“Oh yeah. Well, I’ve got an idea. Let’s make friends with him.”
“Hold my hand, close your eyes and imagine you’re making friends with him. What’s he doing?” (Take his mask off, Kai).
“He’s laughing. And he’s drinking my milk!”
“Drinking your milk! He’d better not be.”
“I don’t mind.”
“Ask him what his name is.”
“It’s Smackleducker.” (Kids come up with such great names – no adult could think of that)
“Smackleducker! Okay. I got another idea.”
“He could guard you. He could protect you. He could be the Guardian of Kai’s room.”
“Yeah, he could.”
“You ready to go to sleep now?”
“Night night, tough guy.”
“Night night, Daddy ……. Daddy?”
“Love you, Daddy.”
(Wow!) “Love you too, mate. More than you’ll ever know.”
(There’s greatness in this little boy).
For the most part, I’m a comedy writer. My goal, my life’s ambition if you like, is to give direction to comedy, purpose to satire. And this is probably why I write the books I do, in order to use self-deprecating humour to bring to the fore situations that just don’t stack up. To demonstrate that serious issues can be approached with humour.
This piece, however, comes from a book I’ve entitled ‘Words are our Sorcery,’ which is an entirely different genre altogether. There’s poetry in the book, a few chapters on food and cooking, some scribblings about the ‘writer’ and I’ve finished the book with three chapters on parenthood. Fatherhood to be precise. True stories actually. My goal here is to use the writer’s sorcery to establish emotion and hopefully leave you the reader with a lump in his or her throat.
My Amazon pages are here;
Hardly any subject is taboo to the Englishman when he’s laughing, and you’ll see what I mean by taking a look at my latest Author Interview;
I love to hear from readers. Often it’s the writer’s only gauge of how his work is accepted. I write a column for a newsletter in New York, and have great fun connecting with the people over there. You can find me on Twitter @hobokarl
God bless, and thanks for reading
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