Guns

Fans, it was bound to happen, and here is how it happened for us. The other night, when we were eating dinner, which included bread, Joe announced to us that his crust, was a gun. We've talked about gun play before, but seemingly ages ago, when Joe moved, at three years old, to the preschool rooms, and only with each other. Neither of us said a word. We just shot a quick glance at the other across the table, and later, Julie dug out the really good article Sara had gotten from a friend and passed along about boys and gun play. We were relieved to be reminded that not making a big deal out of Joe's pronouncement at dinner was probably the right way to go, unless our goal is to make guns the only thing with which he wants to play. An outright ban on guns and gun play, we have learned, is impossible to achieve because, of course, one can make a gun with one's hand. Today, a yardstick was labelled a gun, and Joe informed us he was a "bad guy," which gave us a chance to ask him if all people with guns are bad (no, as police officers are not bad guys) and to establish some of the gun play parameters: guns cannot be pointed at people or animals. Other rules will include that guns have to be put away if anyone gets hurt or feels unsafe, and no guns at the dinner table.

At this point, we can tell that Our Hero is parroting words he is hearing at school (we are told there is a sizable superhero hero-obsessed contingent in hie room), without making all the appropriate connections, because, for example, he at first often referred to Superman and Batman as bad guys. Still, despite knowing this, and understanding that some gun play can be a healthy way of exploring imagination and feeling powerful and in control (or so we read), one's heart breaks a bit to hear one's not-yet-even-four-years-old boy announce that his crust of bread is a gun.

Holy bonkers, Batman. Holy bonkers.