Damn the Torpedos

Bonhomme is into machines now, like most manly toddlers. Garbage trucks, construction vehicles, rigs, I can handle. I can even delight in his fascinaction with rockets and satellites, although I am somewhat bemused that my 26-month-old is oohing and ahhing over galaxies and motherships. And his latest foray into the world of gears and turbines, and historic mills (especially the ones with waterwheels and windmills), is charming (if, again, a bit astounding considering that I can’t get him to identify colours).

But I never, EVER, expected to have to explain to my not-yet-two-and-a-quarter-year-old child what a gun is.

Two days ago, I had the brilliant idea to introduce him to “Wall-E”, the latest animated movie from fabulous Pixar. He watched 45 mintues straight without a word, a wiggle or a why. I admit to offering a running commentary quietly in his ear, pointing things out like the piles of garbage, and the sand-storm, and the spaceships, and the probe, and the planets, and yes, the mothership.

Last night, we had to remind him about Wall-E, and wouldn’t he like to watch it again (being a little tired of the other, well-watched, options)? Once again, he settles in, enthralled. But this time, he’s the one telling us the storyline.

And then, we get to the scene where Eva shoots the rusted out cargo ship, and causes an enormous explosion as the ships fall onto each other in a domino effect.

Bonhomme is wide-eyed, full of horrified glee.

“What she do, Daddy?”
“Well, Son, you see, Eva had a temper tantrum. She was upset, and made the ships explode.”
“Why?”
“Um, because she was mad. You know, how you get upset sometimes and throw things?”
“Why?”
“Well, Eva threw something at the ships, and they were old and rusty, and they fell, and they exploded.”
“Oh.”
“Cause why, Daddy?”
“And then Wall-E got scared, see? He got scared from the explosion.”
“Cause Eva froo somtin’?”
“Um yeah. We’ll go with that. See, look Bud – see Wall-E dancing? Isn’t that sweet?”
“Yeah!”

I know, all kids get into guns at some point. Just because I don’t like them doesn’t mean that they won’t – in fact, it practically guarantees that they will.

I knew I’d have to come up with some sort of explanation, and strategy, and rules that I could live with on how we deal with violent toys.

But not at 26 months! I’m not READY yet! I’m not prepared! I haven’t written the plan yet! I’m not QUALIFIED!

Where’s that lasergun? I’ve got to find me some ships to explode.

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