The following monologue is ©2018 by Larry Bliss. Contact me at Lbliss314@yahoo.com for information about permissions. Thank you!
Little Stinker, by Larry Bliss
I love my boy. His name is Jackie, like his dad. He has red hair and freckles. My sister calls him Opie, only he can’t fish… yet. He is four years old and can already do anything he sets his mind to.
He’s a tough little munchkin. Full of spit and disobedience. Loves every dinosaur that walked the earth, and in his hockey get-up, he’s Ron Francis.
I have passed on to him an unholy love of dirt and mudpies. Even though he loves his video games, he always has dirt under his fingernails.
Behind the house there is a creek. Creeks are necessary for little boys. He splashes and loves to get wet. One day he’ll drink from it, and as daddies should, I will chastise him. But secretly I will be tickled.
I fought for him. Lorraine was a damn mess. She went way too far into the dope. I’m no saint—I got into it now and again… okay a lot… but she… well, it ate her alive. I have custody, and she’s in court-ordered meetings. I still love her, and I wish her well… but I can’t take chances with my son. The papers were served yesterday.
Of course, none of this is his concern. I do the dad stuff, and my sister does the mom stuff. I’d be lost without her.
Anyways… the little stinker and I are at the park, just me and him. He’s on the giant pterodactyl, the one with feather flames. The neck sticks way out. He’s riding it and giggling. He makes roaring pterodactyl noises, and I roar back. I’m the T-rex in the family.
All my cares disappear. I’m no longer a contractor, an ex-husband, or even a role model. I’m four years old, having some fun with my guy.
All of a sudden, Jackie stops roaring. He looks me straight in the eye. I see something in them I have never seen before.
He leans to the left. Looks down, looks at me, and grins. He leans a little more… and then he lets go and falls off, deliberately. He hits the cement.
Oh my sweet Lord! I’m off the bench. My heart is pounding and my throat is dry. He’s all in a heap and he’s crying louder than hell. Are you all right? Can you move? Where does it hurt? I’ll get Auntie. I’ll get Auntie. You’ll be fine you’ll be fine you’ll be fine.
I move his little arms and legs. He cries and cries but they bend okay. There’s blood on his shoulder and his wrists and his knees… but he’s breathing. So am I.
Then comes the car, and the emergency room, and the wait, and the doctor. They clean his wounds and bandage him with little T-rexes. The little stinker just laughs.
We’re home now. He’s in bed. Jeopardy is on. There’s two empty Millers, and I’m working on another.
Tomorrow we’ll have the talk. I’ll be mad, but I will resist the urge to smack him into next Thursday. He’ll promise to never do it again. I’ll hug him and let him loose, and cry a little.
He’ll go down to the creek. Maybe he’ll take a drink.
I won’t care.
©2018 by Larry Bliss
Oak City Essays 