From: lsimon@phoenix.phoenix.net (the simon) Newsgroups: talk.bizarre Subject: Solomon and the Flying Nickel Date: 11 Mar 1995 06:51:13 GMT "Yeah, the world would swing if I were king" Tom Petty, "It's Good To Be King" --- Legend has it that Wise King Solomon once tried to solve a dispute between two women over a baby by threatening to chop the baby in half. Nowadays, everyone knows that you're supposed to let one woman cut and the other choose. --- A few thousand years after King Solomon, my dad comes home from a convention with a sack full of goodies. He calls me and my brother into the room. Keychains, mugs, hats, and shirts spill out of the bag. Finally, he pulls out something round and made out of foam rubber with the label "Flying Nickel." It looks just like a regular nickel, except it was huge, made out of foam rubber, and flew. It was the coolest thing in the universe. More cool than the voice of James Earl Jones or the squint of Billy Barty. He bounced it off the walls and ceiling and we were stunned with its beauty. Then, my dad hands the nickel to my brother and walks off. Of course, this isn't right. Even at the tender (and juicy) age of 4, I knew from experience that this is going to be the end of it. My brother's going to hog the flying nickel like the imported toy soliders he always gets, the model airplanes, and so on. So I throw a fit screaming, biting, and kicking. My mother walks into the room and spots the source of the confrontation with dead accuracy. Two kids and a giant foam-rubber nickel - I wonder what they're fighting about? The coffee table? It's a no-brainer. So she grabs the nickel and begins her own little speech about sharing and fighting. It's the same old speech. It's a load of crap that's fun to dump on your kids when that have absolutely no frame of reference from which to understand, and they're not just about to understand. Just to prove my point, I remember absolutely nothing from that speech except the way her upper lip snarled, the last two sentences, and the hideous, violent aftermath. "You two can't share, eh?" she shouts. "Well, let's see how well this thing flies when you two can't share." She rips the nickel in half, throws the pieces back at us, and walks off. My brother grabs both halves, unsatisfied with even half of a ruined toy, and runs off to his room to hide it. I throw yet another fit, full of colorful barroom language not even a foriegner should shout without having their papers in order. To this day, I still buy soap at the grocery store based on taste. Twenty-one years later, I still grieve for the Flying Nickel. And, with the help of that ever-clear hindsight, I now know that my parents were both jerks. Dumber than even that so-called Wise King Solomon, who would have been scrubbing pieces of Chopper Baby out of the carpeting for weeks. Let's first attack my mother, as all good sons do: 1) There's two kids. 2) It's a giant nickel, in every respect except material, mass, and aerodynamics. 3) You've got a kitchen timer. The solution? 4) FLIP IT! Whoever calls it, sets the timer for 5 minutes. After it goes off, the other kid plays with it. Keep 'em switching every 5 minutes and they'll wear themselves or the toy out. If they break the furniture, THEN take it away and beat the hell out of them. As for dad, well, he's just as guilty of being a rotten parent, too. He's to blame for the whole problem. Did he suddely forget at the convention about one of his sons? God forbid that he forget about one (and the only one) of his wives like so many men do at conventions. Shouldn't it be equally irresponsible not to take into account the number of kids. There was something about a coat of many colors long ago. Couldn't that jerk of a father have made two coats of many colors, or three, or four? He'd be the envy of all the other shepherds... nice, young, fine and handsome sons wearing matching suits while tending the flock. Even a hairy, fat kid like that See-Saw or whatever looks impressive in a suit, trust me, I know. No, he's got to get them at each others throats for his own sick pleasure. What did he care? He probably had more wives and willing slaves than toes, and what did he care if a few of his kids killed each other up in the hills. He's a fine example for our amoral modern world, disgustingly filled from the Marianas Trench to the snowy peaks of Everest with abuse, divorce, and buggery. So the father is to blame. He's got two sons, and he brings back a single morsel for them to fight over like lions on the plains. Not even fight over - he knows who he wants to get it, and he knows that the other's going to fight for it. It's going to happen, because this kind of mindgames's been happening not for just 4, but 4,000 years. If there's one thing that kids don't suddenly develop, besides extra eyes and the ability to make plants explode, its the ability to share. The little one's going to try to bust up the handoff, cause a fumble, and run one back for a touchdown. Perhaps be could have gotten two of the Flying Nickels from the Flying Nickel Man. Perhaps he could have settled on getting five Flying Pennies for the price of the Flying Nickel, more than enough for the needs of his small family. So, I've ripped the masks off the people who raised me and shown them to be the monsters they really are, feeding off the suffering they caused to their children so long ago through their own thinly-veiled generocity. But I'm going to get even, ha ha, because for their thirtieth anniversary I'm going to buy them a ticket to Hawaii. Yes, that island paradise with sandy beaches and one-armed Senators. But I'm just buying them one ticket. And the instant they ask me why I just bought them one ticket, I'll shout, "So, you can't even share one ticket to Hawaii can you? Well, let's see how well you fly when you two can't share!" And I'm going to tear the ticket in half. And when I'm done cackling with glee, exorcizing the ghost of the Flying Nickel from my shallow soul, I'm going to call the travel agency and get a replacement ticket for myself. I've always wanted to go to Hawaii. I hear they make Flying Nickels out there. -- "Questions? Comments? Care for a mint?" -Rita Rudner +-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+- the / CTN / lsimon@phoenix.phoenix.net simon / http://www.phoenix.net/~lsimon/ +-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-