A couple of weeks ago LR headed off to camp and we decided to have a movie night with RJ so he could enjoy something special. Considering his imagination, we picked an older movie with a fun story (The Adventures of Baron Munchausen). Things went fairly well, although he was a bit bored during the beginning. Part way through, Mom and I briefly turned and discussed something. I’m not sure what it was, but it was probably something critically important, like what the dismembered body parts that the cat recently dragged in originally belonged to, or when I would finally get around to gluing down the plastic strips on the edges of the cabinet doors in the kitchen.
Conversation over, we looked up and saw RJ, eyes very wide, staring at the screen. On screen, in the typically surreal and maniacal styling of Terry Gilliam, a horrifying, winged variant of the Grim Reaper / Angel of Death loomed over someones body, coaxing a soul from their mouth as flames and screaming noises roared in the background.
I quickly realised I had forgotten a fairly important part of the movie… and that I’m no longer in the running for the Parent of the Year Award. Less than a moment later, the movie was paused, the screen was blanked and we were asking RJ if he wanted to watch something else.
RJ: (quietly) Yes, please.
The movie got switched off and replaced with the safe, inoffensive (yet mildly nauseating) world of “The Land Before Time“, but it appears the damage was already done. To be fair, the scene was only thirty seconds long, but it does set up the young girl in her role as heroine, so it’s fairly important. Considering the last time I watched the movie was twenty years ago, I’m not surprised I had forgotten it.
My memory — or more accurately, my lack of memory — is an impressive thing. Yesterday I went to the shops to buy a few things, most importantly some spinach. Now spinach was not only requested before I left, but was actually written down on a shopping list that I carried in my hand and it (spinach, not the shopping list) was a critical ingredient of the evening’s meal. Spinach was therefore very important and more than once while walking through the store I told myself, “Must not forget the spinach.” Much to my poor, suffering wife’s chagrin, the spinach is still sitting uneaten on a shelf in the vegetable department, quite safe from our hungry family.
The fallout from the movie incident didn’t occur until the next day and considering our previous experiences with RJ, it was pretty mild. It all started with RJ spending some time with his lego, working hard on a secret project.
RJ: I made something. Do you like it?
Dad: (channelling Keanu Reeves)… whoah….
RJ: It’s the Death Fairy.
Dad: It’s awesome. How long did that take?
RJ: Just this morning, but some bits are falling off, can you help me get them to stay?
Dad: Sure thing.
(Progress is made reinforcing some sections and changing others.)
RJ: Did you know the Death Fairy can smell better than a bear? That’s how he knows you are going to die.
Dad: Most people call him the Angel of Death. He’s not real, you know.
RJ: I know. It’s just a story.
Dad: Are you scared of it?
RJ: Not really. I already know lots about him.
Dad: Like what?
RJ: He can never be killed because he has no weakness. He also has many children that do what he says and help protect him… and a mum that stays at home and protects his house.
Dad: So he’s pretty dangerous then.
RJ: YES! Do you know the worst part?
Dad: What’s that?
RJ: He takes your soul and your ideas and puts them in a jar and he never lets them out. He loves to look at the little stars in it.
Dad: How does he do that?
RJ: He has the closest looker microscope, with the closest looking sensors. It’s the only way to see the stars.
Dad: So where did he come from anyway?
RJ: Well… Death Fairies used to be normal people and they lived on another planet. They were living in a house and it got buried under rocks and they died. After that, they felt a bit zombieish and woke up again… and then they were Death Fairies.
RJ's rendition of the Death Fairy, aka the Angel of Death.
