Zombie Boy

In George A. Romero's classic film Night of the Living Dead, the radiation from a fallen satellite causes the recently deceased to rise from the grave and seek the living to use as food. The zombies are single-minded in their quest, and nothing can stop their never-ending search for food.



The Boy reminds me of these zombies. Okay, so not a stinky, rotting-flesh kind of zombie, more in a stinky, super cute kind of zombie; but a zombie nevertheless.

The Boy possesses steely determination and single-minded focus when he wants something - like my glasses for instance. With a look of fascination he'll slowly reach for them. I'll block his arm. He'll slowly reach with his other arm. I deflect that attempt. He tries another angle. I move my head. Like the reanimated dead in the movie, there's no way to stop his advance until I take the glasses off my head and hide them. It's the same with the cats, toys or anything else he wants that we don't want him to have.

The next words I should teach him should be, "Braaains. BRAAAAINS."

On a separate note: It always seemed to me that people get buried in their Sunday best. According to Night of the Living Dead people in rural America get buried in denim shirts, jeans and flannel jackets. Maybe I only attend ritzy funerals.