Originally from June 27, 2006 – Boy, age 6
We’re big on cartoons in this house. By big, I mean we have lots of cartoons on DVD. Not just any cartoons, mind you; only classics will do. That crap they slather on Saturday mornings these days that is full of subliminal messages to go buy pogs and furbys doesn’t qualify, thankyouverymuch.
So, of course, we have the Looney Tunes collection, which my son loves. Each DVD has a picture of a character on it, and the boy knows just which cartoons are on which disc and asks for them by saying, “I want to watch…” Taz or Bugs or Daffy or Coyote – whoever’s picture is on the disc – which usually has nothing to do with the cartoon he actually wants to see.
So, all that to tell you this. This disc has a toon called “Feed the Kitty” about a big bull dog named Marc Anthony who finds a kitten, takes it into the house, and then does everything to try to hide it from the lady of the house, afraid that she won’t let him keep it – which, of course, she eventually does, and the whole thing is adorable. But, it is not nearly as adorable as my kid.
We’re watching along one day, and he starts talking about the kitty. He has the usual little kid speak, so some trouble with r’s and l’s and a little high and nasal. Makes it hard for us even to pick out sometimes, especially out of context, and we were clueless what he was saying. The first couple of times, we gave up, but finally, we were sitting down watching with him when it came on and caught the title frame. As the kitty got into mischief, there was our boy, telling us all about it with those same words, and that was when it struck us. He was telling us what the kitty was doing by using the kitty’s name:
Feed. Feed, the kitty. “It says so right there!”
I can’t possibly make myself correct him.