….AND BIG MAX
In the year 2009, it was Zak “Boppa” Turango’s intention to plant and grow at least one very large pumpkin for my one grandchild, Kent Rasmussen. However, fate intervened with what used to be known, pre-modern medicine, as a “Stroke, by the Hand of God.” Now we know it by the name CVA, or a “cerebrovascular accident.”
By whatever name it is called, it changes one’s pumpkin planting plans. Thus in the year 2009, no pumpkins.
In the year 2010, however, Kent, who also enjoys the nickname given to him by his creative mother, “Bergemon T. Firefly,” (my daughter-in-law also has a very nice man for a family friend, “Uncle Bugsy,” who is neither an uncle nor a mobster) was promised a large pumpkin for Halloween by yours truly, his “Boppa.”
Despite my sometimes confused gardening efforts, I was proud to be able to produce and provide a “slightly larger than basketball-sized” pumpkin, named “Big Max,” so named after his particular pumpkin variety.
This morning, I received a photograph of the following holiday transition for Big Max, from a garden-variety pumpkin to scary jack-o’-lantern.
Folks, life is good:-)
Earlier today, I spoke to my grandson, who will be trick-or-treating this evening as a “Pumpkin Monstrosity.”
Last Friday when he and his other first grade classmates wore their Halloween costumes to school, his little friends could not understand the term “monstrosity” so he resorted to the term “zombie,” which term all, but the most sheltered children understand, given the interest in horror films emanating from Hollywood.
His first grade teacher, Mrs. Beaman, has graciously recognized and addressed Kent’s ability to read above his class level and is providing extracurricular reading assignments to develop those skills.
Should Mrs. Beaman have an opportunity to read Wildomar Magazine, I wanted to express my gratitude on behalf of my grandson. You are a credit to your profession.
Before any readers react negatively to tales of zombies and the “undead,” please consider that, in the same way that we permit children to grow up slowly, eventually finding out that Santa and the Easter Bunny are imaginary, (sorry Ben, but they’re not real) death is such a complex concept for children that it is permissible for them to also grow up slowly by putting a scary but defeatable facade/mask on the evil face of death.
In movies, zombies can be stopped.
In the real, adult world, death cannot.
Children should have plenty of time to be children before they have to learn the difference.
Kent created his own monster and a storyline to go with his costume. If I got the story right, it seems that after a battle, centuries ago, a pumpkin farmer planted pumpkins right where many of the fallen had been buried. When the pumpkins “came to life,” in some mystical manner, so did a fallen warrior.
Unfortunately for the pumpkin farmer, the reborn warrior also found an old weapon near where he was buried and killed the farmer while the farmer was cooking a pumpkin.
Sounds like another generation of screenwriters is developing. This time instead of comedy, it will be horror flicks.
It is not nearly as gruesome, however, as some Sunday School stories. How about that shepherd boy, David, taking out a giant named Goliath, with a rock from a slingshot striking him square between the eyes. Fair enough.
But then David beheaded Goliath with his own sword? Eeeeugh.
I have often felt sorry for Goliath. Perhaps he, too, had a family that missed him.
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Next year, Kent, we’re going for a bigger pumpkin yet, out of the Dill’s Atlantic Giant variety.
Boppa’s already shoppin’ online for seeds.