Arrrgggh, Matey!
Pirates are a huge deal around our house.
They are like a one stop shop for a dramatic little boy. They fight with swords and guns and represent a kind of hedonsim and freedom to a four and a half year old. (To a 31 year old too!) Adding to their appeal is the fact that they are bad guys. Really, really bad guys. The extent of their badness is somehow lost in the romantic figure they cut in the landscape of the imagination. With their fancy clothes that are filthy and smelly (a boy's natural state!) and their mastery of steel and explosives, they are especially attractive for a little man who loves to dress up and swash a little buckle.
The best part is the sword fighting. Sullivan and I like to throw on some music and run around the house challenging plastic with plastic and keeping track of the wounds we've received. We've lost arms and legs and run each other through complete with dramatic death scenes.
We have lots of skeletons, treasure maps, telescopes and a Playmobil pirate ship that just rocks our world.
Being bad is just so much fun.
Of course, I've had to lock up my historical kill joy in order to indulge in this fantasy. I have to choke her back from spoiling the fun with terrible truths about real pirates. He knows their behavior is bad, but he doesn't need to know the gory details. Things that are scary fun, like Blackbeard lighting fuses under his hat to intimidate his enemies, are worth knowing and can enhance the play. Knowing about the atrocities, however, that can wait. But it does nag at me. Growing up in a household where history was relevant and PRESENT every day of my life does tend to skew my perspective when playing with historical figures.
I shudder when he plays with his little western play set and calls the generic feathered ones Indians. This prompted me to try to explain Columbus being an idiot. I've found myself explaining the slave trade and witch trials and the practice of putting someone's head on a pike. Sometimes I should just keep my macabre mouth shut.
Growing up, my Dad took us to battlefields for fun. Being a Civil War buff, assassination was a regular part of dinnertime conversation with our household patriarch. By the time I was 9 I was telling teachers, "The Civil War was not about slavery but about state's rights." I got the highest score in the Milestones of Freedom test (winning me a $50 savings bond and getting my picture in the paper) without even studying. I watched "North South" in its entirety at least 4 or 5 times. (Maybe that was because of Patrick Swayze.) When Tom and I took our first road trip, I insisted we go to Gettysburg as I had such fond memories of visiting this blood soaked land as a child. I also wanted to visit the sites that were depicted in the violent paintings that adorned my family room as a child.
Dude. That's fucked up.
That's also why I think I could get along with Sarah Vowell. Dude, we could be, like, best friends.
They are like a one stop shop for a dramatic little boy. They fight with swords and guns and represent a kind of hedonsim and freedom to a four and a half year old. (To a 31 year old too!) Adding to their appeal is the fact that they are bad guys. Really, really bad guys. The extent of their badness is somehow lost in the romantic figure they cut in the landscape of the imagination. With their fancy clothes that are filthy and smelly (a boy's natural state!) and their mastery of steel and explosives, they are especially attractive for a little man who loves to dress up and swash a little buckle.
The best part is the sword fighting. Sullivan and I like to throw on some music and run around the house challenging plastic with plastic and keeping track of the wounds we've received. We've lost arms and legs and run each other through complete with dramatic death scenes.
We have lots of skeletons, treasure maps, telescopes and a Playmobil pirate ship that just rocks our world.
Being bad is just so much fun.
Of course, I've had to lock up my historical kill joy in order to indulge in this fantasy. I have to choke her back from spoiling the fun with terrible truths about real pirates. He knows their behavior is bad, but he doesn't need to know the gory details. Things that are scary fun, like Blackbeard lighting fuses under his hat to intimidate his enemies, are worth knowing and can enhance the play. Knowing about the atrocities, however, that can wait. But it does nag at me. Growing up in a household where history was relevant and PRESENT every day of my life does tend to skew my perspective when playing with historical figures.
I shudder when he plays with his little western play set and calls the generic feathered ones Indians. This prompted me to try to explain Columbus being an idiot. I've found myself explaining the slave trade and witch trials and the practice of putting someone's head on a pike. Sometimes I should just keep my macabre mouth shut.
Growing up, my Dad took us to battlefields for fun. Being a Civil War buff, assassination was a regular part of dinnertime conversation with our household patriarch. By the time I was 9 I was telling teachers, "The Civil War was not about slavery but about state's rights." I got the highest score in the Milestones of Freedom test (winning me a $50 savings bond and getting my picture in the paper) without even studying. I watched "North South" in its entirety at least 4 or 5 times. (Maybe that was because of Patrick Swayze.) When Tom and I took our first road trip, I insisted we go to Gettysburg as I had such fond memories of visiting this blood soaked land as a child. I also wanted to visit the sites that were depicted in the violent paintings that adorned my family room as a child.
Dude. That's fucked up.
That's also why I think I could get along with Sarah Vowell. Dude, we could be, like, best friends.
posted by Bree O'Connor at 8:23 AM
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