Monday, November 14, 2011

The Golden Goose OF DOOM

    Every night I read Aesop's Fables to my kids.  Last week we read about the golden goose.  So, I normally love those stories, but geese . . . well, here's my opinion on geese . . .


    This is a fantasy:
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    This snarling gem is the reality:
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    This is fiction:
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    This is reality:
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This clothed goose is . . . pleasant:
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    This is epic:
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This reminds me of my brother:
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And this is reality:
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    But back to the point.  We read about how a normal-looking goose would have golden eggs.
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    "But the owners got so greedy," I read, "that they decided to cut the goose open and see if it was golden on the inside too."
    "That was a bad idea," the Scribe said.  "Even if it was gold inside, it wouldn't be able to poop eggs anymore."
    "Poop eggs?"
    "Yeah," the Hippie agreed.  "That isn't very smart."
    "So, the owners cut the goose open and discovered it was just like any other goose on the inside."  I shut the book and turned to my girls.  "What's the moral of this one?" I asked.
    "That you should appreciate what you have," the Scribe said.
    "And that if you always try to get more, it can ruin everything," the Hippie said.
    "You're right.  Greed can ruin almost everything in one way or another."
   "Are these stories all true?" the Hippie asked.
    "They're made up, but they teach good things."
    So, a day passed, and when the girls came home from school, the Scribe couldn't stop talking.  "I want a boyfriend.  You let me play with girls, but I want to play with a boy too.  I really like him, Mom.  I really do!"
    "That's great, but I said 'no,' Honey."
    "But Mom!"
     "No.  And if you keep asking me, then I'll ground you from playing with anyone.  That's a lonely way to go, but the choice is yours."
    The Hippie's eyes lit up like Christmas.  I couldn't figure out why she was so excited.  Her sister faced being grounded and the Hippie actually looked proud.  
    "Oh . . . my gosh," she said.
   "What are you smiling about?" I asked the Hippie.   She stayed gawking at the Scribe, then turned to me.  
    "This is just like that time with the golden goose.  It's happening to us . . . right now.  The story was true!  The Scribe's trying to cut the goose open, but if she does, she'll lose everything!"  She looked at her sister.  "Scribe, please don't do this . . . remember the goose."
    It hit me so funny--maybe since it's the first time I've liked geese.  
    The Scribe did quit complaining after that, and later in the day, the girls clung to every word I read.
   "These fables are amazing," the Hippie said.
   "Yeah," the Scribe agreed. "They even help you stay out of trouble!"