The Dragon of Nottingham - Isaac at the Recorder

Mom and Dad won't allow me to have a tattoo. They said it was out of the question. I asked would it matter if I didn't put it in the form of a question, but rather a statement of my one true desire at the moment.

"Four year-olds don't get tattoos," my mom said. "Only bikers and sailors have tattoos."

I knew then it was pointless to go on and tell her that I knew she and Dad have Daffy Duck tattoos somewhere on their person. I found out about their little secret in the usual fashion. I eavesdropped. I've discovered it's about the only way a boy my age was going to find out about anything. Ever.
It seems everyone around here wants to keep the whole darn world a secret. But you know what? I've discovered their little secret about not wanting to share anything. The reason? THEY DON'T KNOW ANYTHING!

It was a brutal and disappointing discovery on my part.

Example: Dad? Where's the Suez Canal? Answer: The Suez canal? Well, son, I'd love to tell you, but that's what we pay teachers to do. Can you imagine if I were to tell you everything you needed to know? Why, teachers would then be out of a job and there'd be no reason to send you to school. Resulting in you being unprepared to deal with life on a social level. You'd be unemployable and forced to live with your parents for the rest of your life. Then, when we got really old it would be your turn to get us into our jammie's and carry us up to bed. I only have your best interest at heart, Issac. Now, finish your cocoa pops or you'll be late for nursery school.

The thought of dressing my parents in their jammie's was enough to put me off questions for a while. I do have to give my dad credit on his evasive maneuvers, though. They're sterling.

Back to the tattoo business. Since I couldn’t get a real tattoo I decided to draw one on my belly. It's a dragon. I drew it from real life. It’s the dragon that lives in my room. He has his own bed now. And I let him sit in my rocker and read my comic books. He’s like a brother to me. But I’m still told he doesn’t really exist. At least that’s what they keep saying. But I think they see him all right. They’re just too afraid to acknowledge him. Afraid that if they accept a dragon into their lives they’re admitting that anything is possible. Some people are afraid to admit that, but not me. I see a dragon. I call it a dragon. Not a dream or a figment of my imagination. I only hope I don’t ever start seeing giant frogs. Regular sized frogs creep me out. I think seeing a giant frog would give me a heart attack.

My dragon didn’t know what to make of the dragon I drew on my belly. He sat at the end of my bed and stared. Then he pointed a claw at his own belly and gave  it a few taps. He wanted me to draw something. I decided that a drawing of me was in order. I’m not a great artist, but I think I managed a decent likeness. And the dragon thinks so as well. He smiles a lot more now.

I'm not sure what’s going to happen at bath time. Will mom decide to scrub me clean? Will she let keep my dragon? We’ll see. Right now I have to go and wake up Mom and Dad.  It’s three o’clock in the morning. If I don’t wake them at least once a night with some urgent need or other, I’m afraid they’ll feel their services are no longer required. So, for now, I must go. Good night, Mr. Recorder. We‘ll do this again real soon.

“Mom! Dad! I’m having a bad dream or something! I’m ever so frightened! Hurry! Quick! Could also use a glass of milk and cookie!”