like an adult.
âWhat do you want with a pocketknife?â Mr Grim-Reaper hissed. âYou donât even have a pocket.â
âWell I would have a pocket if you let me wear jeans like all the other kids at school,â reasoned Nathan.
âSeven hundred generations of Grim Reapers have worn menacing black robes,â growled father G-R, âso why should you be any different?â
He took a sip of his coffee. It was cold.
âYeah,â agreed Nathan, âand seven hundred generations have carried a scythe. I wouldnât need a pocketknife if you let me carry a scythe. Why should I be the first not to have one?â
âIâve told you a hundred times â youâre too young. Youâll get one when youâre older. Scythes are dangerous. Youâll cut yourself, or take somebodyâs head off, nextthing youâve got a lawsuit on your hands. First you prove yourself responsible, then you get a trainer scythe.â
A trainer scythe was made of rubber, and the equivalent of trainer wheels on a bicycle â baby stuff. Nathan frowned appropriately in response.
âThen in the meantime let me have a pocketknife,â Nathan begged.
âBut you donât have a pocket.â
And so on â¦
Nathan was notoriously argumentative, his father was worse, and if you know anything about Grim Reapers and arguments youâll know theyâre like a dog with a bone: they just wonât let it go. And you know how the saying goes â lay down with dogs, get up with fleas, start chasing cats â¦
All of which is totally irrelevant and beside the point.
The point was this: Nathan was chafing under his fatherâs over-protectiveness. His dad wouldnât let him do anything . Wouldnât let him take any risks. Wouldnât let him act like a normal teenager.
Same old story.
Nathan tried telling his dad straight but the silly old geezer didnât get it; heâd just turned 50,000 years old and his teenage years were way too far gone for memory. Nathan consulted his teenage advice book, which was also useless; it suggested proving you were responsible through responsible behaviour, and demonstrating reasonableness by acting reasonably.
Big help. Thanks a bunch.
Nathan even resorted to watching Finding Nemo on DVD with his dad, pointing out how Nemoâs over-protective father was just like Nathanâs over-protective father. But Nathanâs over-protective father didnât get the message at all, cried at the soppy bits, got scared at the scaredy bits, scarfed all the M&Ms and raved about how clever the animators were: âThose images look so lifelike ⦠they shouldâve got the Oscar, not that fat Lord of the Rings swindler.â
It was useless. Nathan had to do something or heâd go completely bonkers.Something had to change; he needed some freedom, some independence, some control over his life, and soon.
And then, when all hope seemed lost, Nathan was thrown a lifeline from a most unexpected source â Parent-Teacher Night at Horror High â¦
âWhat do you want with a pocketknife?â Mr Grim-Reaper hissed. âYou donât even have a pocket.â
âWell I would have a pocket if you let me wear jeans like all the other kids at school,â reasoned Nathan.
âSeven hundred generations of Grim Reapers have worn menacing black robes,â growled father G-R, âso why should you be any different?â
He took a sip of his coffee. It was cold.
âYeah,â agreed Nathan, âand seven hundred generations have carried a scythe. I wouldnât need a pocketknife if you let me carry a scythe. Why should I be the first not to have one?â
âIâve told you a hundred times â youâre too young. Youâll get one when youâre older. Scythes are dangerous. Youâll cut yourself, or take somebodyâs head off, nextthing youâve got a lawsuit on your hands. First you prove yourself responsible, then you get a trainer scythe.â
A trainer scythe was made of rubber, and the equivalent of trainer wheels on a bicycle â baby stuff. Nathan frowned appropriately in response.
âThen in the meantime let me have a pocketknife,â Nathan begged.
âBut you donât have a pocket.â
And so on â¦
Nathan was notoriously argumentative, his father was worse, and if you know anything about Grim Reapers and arguments youâll know theyâre like a dog with a bone: they just wonât let it go. And you know how the saying goes â lay down with dogs, get up with fleas, start chasing cats â¦
All of which is totally irrelevant and beside the point.
The point was this: Nathan was chafing under his fatherâs over-protectiveness. His dad wouldnât let him do anything . Wouldnât let him take any risks. Wouldnât let him act like a normal teenager.
Same old story.
Nathan tried telling his dad straight but the silly old geezer didnât get it; heâd just turned 50,000 years old and his teenage years were way too far gone for memory. Nathan consulted his teenage advice book, which was also useless; it suggested proving you were responsible through responsible behaviour, and demonstrating reasonableness by acting reasonably.
Big help. Thanks a bunch.
Nathan even resorted to watching Finding Nemo on DVD with his dad, pointing out how Nemoâs over-protective father was just like Nathanâs over-protective father. But Nathanâs over-protective father didnât get the message at all, cried at the soppy bits, got scared at the scaredy bits, scarfed all the M&Ms and raved about how clever the animators were: âThose images look so lifelike ⦠they shouldâve got the Oscar, not that fat Lord of the Rings swindler.â
It was useless. Nathan had to do something or heâd go completely bonkers.Something had to change; he needed some freedom, some independence, some control over his life, and soon.
And then, when all hope seemed lost, Nathan was thrown a lifeline from a most unexpected source â Parent-Teacher Night at Horror High â¦
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