My youngest, William was never into dinosaurs. When he turned six he was into them in a big way. Every night, instead of stories, I had to read him from the big dinosaur book. He loved a proto T-Rex from Africa. It was only two feet tall. He liked it because it was multicolored. Beautiful in the picture. It ate bugs and lizards. I think he empathized. He saw himself as the smallest one in his class. But he had skills. After a year or so, he dropped the subject. He asked me once if I had the money to clone the DNA of a dinosaur. I assured him I did not. I told him in the future scientists might be able to bring the dinosaurs back. But not yet. Subject closed. Two years later I was shooting a show in San Diego. I brought a different boy down with me every weekend to swim in the pool, eat at the restaurant, and sleep in the hotel room. I was checking out. William was by my side. I was paying the check. He suddenly announced to the entire lobby, “Daddy, I figured it out. I want the little colored guy from Africa.” The woman checking me out was African-American. She stopped and stared at me. William continued, “Daddy, yes. I want the colored guy from Africa. We can keep in the back yard in a barbed wire fence. I can feed him lizards. If it’s hot I can hose him off. And if he’s nice, I can bring him inside to my cozy bed.” Every eye in the lobby was on me. “Dinosaurs,” I said. “He’s talking dinosaurs.” The woman behind the desk glared at at me with disgust and said, “Visa or Mastercard.”
Posted on: Sat, 20 Sep 2014 03:00:21 +0000
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