The first amber leaves of Fall dotted the surrounding trees.  Darkness started to creep earlier into each passing day.  So too did signs of darkness appear in the dwelling of Neanderdad, the shaggy, primordial parent of two.  Little ones were learning the power and perils of their negative emotions and Neanderdad was determined to be the beacon of light to lead his offspring through this tempestuous season.

First came the boy.  His tantrum was unexpected, abrupt and violent.

“Got my lip balm.  In my pocket,” he had proudly proclaimed, prior to the incident. He had patted his pants pocket for emphasis, a broad smile on his face.

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Now came troubles to Neanderdad’s house.    The worst kind of troubles.   A civil war had erupted between the girl and the boy.   Now came insults and slights, jabs and needling, attacks and reprisals.   Two sweet children, so recently full of love for each other, had now devolved into demons bent on mutual harm.   The siblings had become rivals.   Neanderdad had been the catalyst.

It had all started so innocently.  Neanderdad found himself lacking in the advanced motivational skills required to get his children efficiently through their bedtime routine.  And whereas Neanderdad wanted his offspring to proceed forthwith to the bathroom for bathing and the brushing of teeth, and with the children being opposed to said bureaucratic necessities, Neanderdad was therefore compelled to develop a technique for expediting things.   It was a technique that he mistook for brilliance.  It consisted of a single word.

“Race?” He had said. Continue reading →