The Dictatorship

There are moments in life that are sadly happy, happily sad and the best of all horribly hysterical. When your eight year old cousin makes one of those comments that just makes your stomach jump with joy, your heart almost pound off your chest, and that little voice box that makes you fall to your knees from laughter almost die of over use, you can’t help but love life.

It all started when my aunt and uncle came to visit us from California last summer. My eight and six year old cousins, Cameron and Dylan, are a child version of Napoleon Bonaparte. For a week they spread a dictatorship over my entire apartment. If I had a nickel for every second of rest I got that week I would be dirt poor. Webkin’s everywhere, fights over dinner, a couple to many broken objects, it was quite a memorable visit. I even stooped down to a level unimaginable and argued with Cameron the great potty poo poo head as we insulted each other with bathroom words for hours.  Don’t get me wrong I adore my cousins but they make you feel like you’ve just run a marathon and done a couple triathlons after just a week.

Anyways that is all beside the point. We went up to Monserate to see the Stations of the Cross with “Fidel and Hugo” or, in other words, our new apartment dictators. After a series of carved statues depicting the story of Jesus we finally got to the church. My uncle took Cameron in to pray under the final stage of the cross. I can’t help but think what was actually going on in Cameron’s mind when he came to see a bearded, long haired man, nailed to a cross with a crown of blood and thorns. One thing I do know, his comment made my summer. “Daddy, what happened to that guy?”