When I was five I began to compile evidence that grownups have much difficulty telling the difference between fantasy and reality.

When you point your finger at your little brother and go bang-bang they accuse you of trying to hurt him.
When they turn your little bottom red they tell you they're helping you.

THEY say that there cannot be a monster under the bed who craves to chew your ankles because THEY've never seen it.
Then they sit around at night talking about Trickle-Down Economics and the Right Wing Conspiracy.

Santa Claus scares you to tears because he's big and loud and smells odd and you're being pushed to sit on this total stranger's lap, and your parents tell you you're being silly.
But a ragged-dressed lady comes down the street carrying bags of trash and they hustle you around the corner away from her, with fear on their faces.

When they correct your grammar, they are teaching you good English.
When you correct their grammar, you're being a smart-aleck.

When you read science-fiction, you are escaping from reality.
When they watch Signor Wensis, they are being down to earth.

When you watch horror movies, you are being traumatized and corrupted.
When they watch the nightly news they are being informed citizens.

When Jerry from Kindergarten makes you cry by saying you talk through your nose and making faces whenever you look at him, and you try to hit him with the lego set, they tell you that you are over-reacting and you should just ignore him.
When Jerry the nextdoor neighbor Republican says all Democrats are pansies, your Dad gets red in the face and tries to hit him with the punchbowl.

Grownups have a hard time getting reality sorted out. When I get older I'm going to be a writer -- but I'm never ever going to be a grownup.

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