It’s easy, and sort of fun, to pretend like fake poop is real — for about a day. It’s been months now, and both of my kids still put it on my leg or head, and expect me to act like I think it’s real. My “Ewwwwww, poop!” reaction has gone from being mildly convincing to having all the enthusiasm of a Walgreens employee asking someone if they want a rewards card. I’m close to making a sign that reads “What? Oh yea … ewwwwww, poop” that I can hold up while not even turning my head away from my morning toast.
A few nights ago, during what I can only assume was a mild stroke, Lindsay said, “Silas, you could bring your fake poop to show & tell at school!” It was, of course, the best idea he’d every heard. As they basked in a moment of shared excitement about this terrible plan, I stared, confused, waiting for one of them to tell me they were kidding. Lindsay assured me that she honestly believed Silas’ plastic pile of feces would be a hit. She even questioned my sense of fun for thinking otherwise, “Oh, come on. Everyone will totally think that’s funny.”
I tried to explain to them that show & tell is about bringing something to school that you’re proud of — an item that represents your home life and means something special to you. Bringing fake poop tells everyone that your mom and dad sit around on inflatable chairs watching arena football in matching Beavis shirts while you eat cat food with your hands. I remember being horrified when a kid in my elementary school brought an iguana for show & tell, and you know what? I later found out that his parents were drug dealers, so this opinion isn’t fueled only by social paranoia.
Silas’ pre-school isn’t some crunchy kiddo get-together taught by a soft-spoken man named “Brand” who might get “super psyched” about Silas’ special dung replica and spend 5 minutes teaching the youngsters about the miracle of digestion. His school is in a church (though not religious) and has two female teachers in their 50’s who have to look after 22 maniac kids, each of whom would be bouncing off the walls if Silas brought fake shit to school. The energy created by that many 4 year-olds seeing plastic poop for the first time would undoubtedly fuel a classroom riot.
I imagine his poor teachers yelling “Everyone, stop throwing Silas’ poop! He brought it from home and it’s special to him because it was a gift from his father! Jesse and Christopher, give Silas’ poop back to him right now!”
I better stop fantasizing about this before I become so enamored with the idea of it actually happening that I change my mind, and let him bring it.