The Blame Game
I don’t know why he decided to do this. It’s not like he cares what people think. If he did, would he dump chocolate milk powder all over the kitchen counter in the middle of ant season? I think not.
But whatever the reason, he walked into the living room with a look of exasperation. Then he pointed an accusing finger at the thin air. “No, no, kids!” he said.
Uh oh. I didn’t like the sound of that.
Taking me by the hand, he led me into the kitchen, where Nestle chocolate was piled neatly — much like an ant hill — on our already infested kitchen counter.
“Who did you say did this?” I asked.
“Kids,” he said.
“So you mean to tell me some kids walked in off the street and dumped our own chocolate on our own counters, even though you were the only one in the kitchen?”
He looked at me as if he couldn’t believe it, either. The nerve of young people these days. “No, no kids!” he repeated, wagging his finger.
“I think you did it,” I said.
But that didn’t register with him, because a week later, he did the same thing to my mom.
After she and the boys made chocolate chip cookies, my mom put one in front of J.J. and told him, “Don’t eat the other cookies. They’re for Richie and Granddad.” Then she left the room.
By the time my mom went back in the kitchen, all the cookies were gone. J.J. covered the crumbs with the tablecloth and said, “No, no, dinosaur!”
When I came to pick them up, my mom told me what happened.
“No, no, kids,” J.J. said. Then, realizing he was getting his lies mixed up, he said. “No, no, dinosaur.”
“A dinosaur ate the cookies?” I asked. “That’s bad.”
“That’s bad,” he agreed, trying not to smile. “Dinosaur bad. Dinosaur eat this house!”
That’s when I realized he was enjoying this. He relished blaming somebody for something he did.
The funny thing is, I think he convinced himself that the dinosaur really ate the cookies. The other day, he found an empty package on the countertop.
He said, "Where the cookies?"
I shrugged. "Maybe the dinosaur ate them."
He shook his head with disdain. "No no, dinosaur," he said, and threw the package in the trash. But this time, he wasn't smiling. It's one thing when dinoaurs come into the kitchen when you're in there. But when they start hanging out with other people, they are no fun at all.