Crazy Crap #264: The part where Jack sums things up

Today, as I was reading in the yard, James came out with a large, inflatable machine gun. He frantically pantomimed shooting and lobbing what seemed to be imaginary hand grenades.

"Who are you fighting?"

"The Japanese."

I expressed skepticism, and explained that the Japanese are our friends. "They made your car," I told him, referencing his mother's Subaru.

"I'm fighting World War II," he clarified.

I asked why he was not instead fighting Germany or Italy. After some consideration, he decided that the Italians would be his target.

Jack, who had just wandered out, suggested that the Germans would be a better target for his brother's hostility. "They made Hitler," he helpfully explained.

I agreed that Hitler was quite bad, probably crazy, and a failed artist.

"And he tried to kill all the Jewish people," Jack added.

I agreed, and, with his prompting, tried to explain anti-Semitism. To an 8-year-old.

We went through several watered-down explanations, variously suggesting that Hitler was crazy, was using the Jews to get his people to support him (my suggestion), thought the Jewish people were to blame for Germany's weaknesses ("Were they?" "No."), and were blamed by Hitler for his own artistic shortcomings (Jack's idea).

"And then Hitler tried to kill all the Jewish people," Jack summarized, "Which was awkward."

Quite.

Crazy Crap #263: The part where Jack shows a good deal of self-awareness

James Casey is a menace to his own person. First, there was the incident in which the bed caused a horrible accident. Then there was a rogue arrow, thankfully sponge-tipped.

We'd discussed oft and anon how these two incidents had marred James forehead in such a way that he looked like he had horns just about to sprout. "Like a devil," he'd proudly proclaimed.

Just the other day, I encountered young James, cavorting in my backyard, and noted he was now sporting a third red spot, this time in the middle of his forehead. "I'm a three-horned devil!" he announced. "I'm a triceratops!"

I questioned him narrowly about how this had happened, and he gave some vague account of falling and hitting his head. I asked if he'd been leaping about, and he admitted he had.

I noted that he was a menace to himself, and that he always seemed to be hurting himself. He responded with incomprehension, so I pointed out his many injuries, recounting how he had gotten each. "I'd say that you're accident prone."

"What does accident prone mean?"

"It means you hurt yourself a lot." Then, I started to feel bad. Perhaps I was giving this poor child a complex. Perhaps my labeling of him as accident prone would give him a complex. So I softened the blow by pointing out that he wasn't alone.

"Lots of you kids are accident prone. Gavin hurts himself a lot."

James: "I hurt myself more."

"No,Gavin broke his arm. He fell out of a tree."

"I'm more accident prone," he asserted again.

"Jack is..." Then I realized something. "You know, Jack's not accident prone. He never hurts himself." I turned to Jack. "I don't remember you ever hurting yourself."

Jack whispered conspiratorially. "I make better choices."