My Son, the Hulk

My son is the Hulk.

He shared this dark secret with me the other day.

I came in from walking the dog and he told me there was something he’d been keeping from me. He said sometimes, at school, when he gets really angry, he develops this super-strength he can’t control. He might pick up another kid and throw him across the playground without knowing he’s doing it.

The danger for him–we didn’t discuss the danger for other children–is that these spells end with him collapsing, unconscious, on the ground. And he almost always hits his head. He lay down on the carpet to demonstrate what that looks like.

He said this is due to a problem in his genes, so it’s not easily fixed. We agreed that we are going to have do some research on how to fix this because we can’t have him constantly hitting his head.

By the way, my son gave me strict orders not to tell anyone about his condition, so please, keep this to yourself.

In the meantime, I am going to follow his example and practice role-playing as some of the characters in the novel I am writing. If I can get as completely inside the roles of my characters as my eight-year-old can get inside his alternate personalities, then my writing is surely going to improve.