The Rude Pundit says it better ...
Pure poetry....
There's a fantasy world that can be spun out among children frolicking in a playroom. The children can take heaping piles of garbage and dirty diapers and empty boxes and colored cloth and construct something they see as an elaborate castle, a wonderland, if you will, where they can enact their epic tales of glories, of princesses and pirates, of villains and dragons, of superheroes and fairies. If you are one of the children, or even a child who comes into the playroom late, you will become a part of the illusionary kingdom, a palette from which fears, anxieties, and wishes are played out to their often extreme ends. It's a beautiful, self-contained environment, the world of children, and grown-ups often harbor secret desires to become part of it.
But sometimes, into the fantastic realms of juvenile imagination, an adult must walk in and point out the reality of the situation. Looking around the destroyed room, the adult calls things by their names: No, Scooter, that's not a unicorn, that's a trash-filled bag with a used paper towel roll on it. No, Ann, it's not make-up and a wig- you're smearing poop from a diaper on your face and putting snot-ridden tissues on your head. No, Sean, you're not a fireman - you've just dropped your pants and pissed everywhere. And you know what, kids? It's time to clean up this goddamn room...
Read the rest here.
10/28/2005
Patrick Fitzgerald: The Grown-Up in the Room:There's a fantasy world that can be spun out among children frolicking in a playroom. The children can take heaping piles of garbage and dirty diapers and empty boxes and colored cloth and construct something they see as an elaborate castle, a wonderland, if you will, where they can enact their epic tales of glories, of princesses and pirates, of villains and dragons, of superheroes and fairies. If you are one of the children, or even a child who comes into the playroom late, you will become a part of the illusionary kingdom, a palette from which fears, anxieties, and wishes are played out to their often extreme ends. It's a beautiful, self-contained environment, the world of children, and grown-ups often harbor secret desires to become part of it.
But sometimes, into the fantastic realms of juvenile imagination, an adult must walk in and point out the reality of the situation. Looking around the destroyed room, the adult calls things by their names: No, Scooter, that's not a unicorn, that's a trash-filled bag with a used paper towel roll on it. No, Ann, it's not make-up and a wig- you're smearing poop from a diaper on your face and putting snot-ridden tissues on your head. No, Sean, you're not a fireman - you've just dropped your pants and pissed everywhere. And you know what, kids? It's time to clean up this goddamn room...
Read the rest here.
posted by Saintperle at
9:48 AM
