Some say Ben was a spoiled kid, living in such a big house and spending his days playing with the newest toys and gaming devices, or at least that’s what people thought he would be doing.
Instead Ben had a somewhat old soul inside his four year old body, it liked playing the old fashion kind of way, with one’s imagination.
You could give him a rock and a piece of paper and he would know a thousand and one ways of playing with them.
He was holding a twig with some brown moist on the tip, he held it delicately in his hand waving it around to create artful letters on the wall like a Japanese monk practicing the noble art of calligraphy.
The wall of the living room was covered in graceful letters forming somewhat disgraceful words.
He elegantly began writing the word doodie, his forehead showed signs of deep thought and concentration, his tongue curled over his upper lip.
“What are you doing! Stop this immediately!” someone shouted from behind him.
The young boy was trying his best to stay balanced on the ledge of the couch he was standing on, so he could reach a high spot on the wall he had covered with all the words he could find for poo.
He looked behind him and saw it was his private teacher Mr. Hatch, “Doo-Doo!” he yelled and jumped of the cough.
Ben ran out of the living room leaving his teacher behind in a state of shock as he read the words on the wall out loud, “Brownie, crut, doodie, drol, dung, govno..”, He stopped when he saw Ben running back into the living room with some fresh ‘paint’ on the end of his twig.
He began to write doo-doo on the wall right below a big old Victorian painting.
“Benjamin I’m surprised you can write this well, your penmanship is impressive. But how about you at least use proper language and write, feces, excreta or tord instead.”, Mr. Hatch pleaded while covering his mouth and nose with the sleeve of his tweed jacket.
“Poop!” Ben said followed by his high pitched laughter.
“Fee-seas. Can you say that?” Mr. Hatch asked while trying to seem strict.
He pointed his twig at Mr. Hatch and said, “You write.”
Mr. Hatch had a soft spot for Ben’s innocent smile and the red puffy cheeks on either end, “Just for this one time, i’ll show you how it should be written.”
He carefully took the twig from Ben and began writing on a open space on the wall.
“Mr. Hatch! What on Earth are you doing?!”
Ben giggled while running towards his mother, “Mommy!” he screamed out of sheer joy.
Ben’s mother read some more words that were on the wall, “Dung, kaka, merde, poopie, squat, unko, poop? What kind of example are you for my son?” she asked.
“This is not what it looked like Miss Eastin, I caught your son writing these vulgar words and I wanted to teach him the proper word for, for..”, Mr. Hatch tried his best to convince Miss Eastin, but she was no longer listening.
She got on her knees and said, “Benjamin why don’t you go into the kitchen while I talk to Mr. Hatch.”
“Yes, mother.”, Little Ben replied.
Miss Eastin walked over to Mr. Hatch who was still holding on to the stick, “Is that what I think it is?” She asked while looking at the brown stuff on the wallpaper.
Ben ran into the kitchen where he bumped into Olga the chef, “Welcome back Benny.” She said with a big smile on her face revealing her somewhat decayed teeth.
Ben climbed up on a stool at the counter and stroked his little finger over the chocolate cake fresh from the oven.
Olga picked him up with her big Russian hands and place him just outside of the kitchen onto the steps of the door that went into the garden, “I wont let you ruin another one of my cakes little Benjamin.”
Ben already knew the game was over but still felt a little sad until he saw that the painter that was repainting the garage had left out a bucket of red paint.
And those garden statues looked awfully pale.
Instead Ben had a somewhat old soul inside his four year old body, it liked playing the old fashion kind of way, with one’s imagination.
You could give him a rock and a piece of paper and he would know a thousand and one ways of playing with them.
He was holding a twig with some brown moist on the tip, he held it delicately in his hand waving it around to create artful letters on the wall like a Japanese monk practicing the noble art of calligraphy.
The wall of the living room was covered in graceful letters forming somewhat disgraceful words.
He elegantly began writing the word doodie, his forehead showed signs of deep thought and concentration, his tongue curled over his upper lip.
“What are you doing! Stop this immediately!” someone shouted from behind him.
The young boy was trying his best to stay balanced on the ledge of the couch he was standing on, so he could reach a high spot on the wall he had covered with all the words he could find for poo.
He looked behind him and saw it was his private teacher Mr. Hatch, “Doo-Doo!” he yelled and jumped of the cough.
Ben ran out of the living room leaving his teacher behind in a state of shock as he read the words on the wall out loud, “Brownie, crut, doodie, drol, dung, govno..”, He stopped when he saw Ben running back into the living room with some fresh ‘paint’ on the end of his twig.
He began to write doo-doo on the wall right below a big old Victorian painting.
“Benjamin I’m surprised you can write this well, your penmanship is impressive. But how about you at least use proper language and write, feces, excreta or tord instead.”, Mr. Hatch pleaded while covering his mouth and nose with the sleeve of his tweed jacket.
“Poop!” Ben said followed by his high pitched laughter.
“Fee-seas. Can you say that?” Mr. Hatch asked while trying to seem strict.
He pointed his twig at Mr. Hatch and said, “You write.”
Mr. Hatch had a soft spot for Ben’s innocent smile and the red puffy cheeks on either end, “Just for this one time, i’ll show you how it should be written.”
He carefully took the twig from Ben and began writing on a open space on the wall.
“Mr. Hatch! What on Earth are you doing?!”
Ben giggled while running towards his mother, “Mommy!” he screamed out of sheer joy.
Ben’s mother read some more words that were on the wall, “Dung, kaka, merde, poopie, squat, unko, poop? What kind of example are you for my son?” she asked.
“This is not what it looked like Miss Eastin, I caught your son writing these vulgar words and I wanted to teach him the proper word for, for..”, Mr. Hatch tried his best to convince Miss Eastin, but she was no longer listening.
She got on her knees and said, “Benjamin why don’t you go into the kitchen while I talk to Mr. Hatch.”
“Yes, mother.”, Little Ben replied.
Miss Eastin walked over to Mr. Hatch who was still holding on to the stick, “Is that what I think it is?” She asked while looking at the brown stuff on the wallpaper.
Ben ran into the kitchen where he bumped into Olga the chef, “Welcome back Benny.” She said with a big smile on her face revealing her somewhat decayed teeth.
Ben climbed up on a stool at the counter and stroked his little finger over the chocolate cake fresh from the oven.
Olga picked him up with her big Russian hands and place him just outside of the kitchen onto the steps of the door that went into the garden, “I wont let you ruin another one of my cakes little Benjamin.”
Ben already knew the game was over but still felt a little sad until he saw that the painter that was repainting the garage had left out a bucket of red paint.
And those garden statues looked awfully pale.
