About eight months ago Jackson and I (who was then around 20 months) were are the park. There was another little boy, who must have been around four, at the park also with his mother. The little kid had cool threads, one of those strider bikes, and a sword. The boy was playing with his mother making pretend she was an evil dragon (little does he know that he will at some point during his teen years actually view her that way), and he was slaying her to the ground. Every so often his sword would turn into a gun and he’d start shooting at his mother. The mother would say, “No, no, Ethan…remember we don’t play with guns, only swords.”
Fast forward to today. Sometimes Jackson, who is now almost two and a half, walks around the house with a toy gun acting out scenes of dramatic shootings complete with slow motion death. How the heck did he learn this (enter my six and eight year old nephews here) anyways? Okay, no problem, just leave the gun at home, right?
Never. Never has Jackson taken out a toy gun or sword out of the house. And what happens today? He not only sneaks the toy gun from Momma (or “auntie” as he calls me, long story, yes, my nephews again), but he sneaks it into the bank! Out of all places!
So there I am. Facing the teller. Holding my two year old son (to prevent him from running all over the bank) while he “playfully” shoots at the teller. I almost died. Thank goodness we had a super friendly teller who understood the irony behind the little boy and his gun.
