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A monologue from the play by Daniel Pearle
Greg (thirties)
We had a bit of a meltdown. Last week. (Pause) Jake wanted to be Snow White for Halloween. And I had said, you know, we could talk about it. But Alex felt strongly it was a bad idea.
She’s obviously fine with his wearing anything, you know, around the apartment but she was convinced letting him trick-or-treat like that— in the building . . . That neighbors might look at him funny.
And she’s right that he’s observant. And sensitive. Anyway, we’d kinda been delaying the conversation and Halloween rolls around and Alex has a pirate outfit and a skeleton costume laid out for him on his bed and he asks, what about Snow White?
And she tells him she doesn’t have a Snow White costume but she has these other costumes, and he says he doesn’t like these other costumes. And she tries to explain, you know, sometimes you can’t have exactly what you want but that’s why we have to compromise.
And he starts throwing a tantrum. Says he doesn’t want to be a skeleton, that her ideas are lazy, “lazy ideas”—who knows where he— . . .
Eventually she said if he wouldn’t stop behaving this way he wouldn’t be allowed to go trick-or-treating at all and that really sent him over the edge. Screaming at her. “You lied to me . . .
You’re not my boss. Daddy said I could.” And I kept explaining I hadn’t actually said yes but at that point . . . I mean the two of them were really getting into it. She said he was being a baby, that he didn’t deserve a costume at all.
And he said . . . you know, “You’re the worst mom in the entire world and I wish you were dead . . . ” (He half-laughs, a little embarrassed.) Alex thinks maybe we give in too much.
He’s got all these interviews happening and they’re obviously not on his terms and she feels like we owe it to him to set clearer boundaries at home. So he can learn a little more . . . self-control
. I don’t know. I do worry that he’s a little—spoiled. I mean he’s an only child, he’s got Alex around all the time, a lotta kids don’t have that, not to mention, you know, his own playroom.
It used to be an office—that we shared. I never understood why his toys couldn’t just live in his—Anyway, all I’m saying is he is accustomed to getting what he wants. So . . . maybe she has a point.
