Ennis is stupid
On the way here, as I was walking down Stuttgart’s empty backstreets on what has become a pleasant Friday night, the only people in sight were a squirming four-year-old boy, and the petite, brunette young mother who was spanking the shellac out of him.
Although such sights have always inspired an odd nostalgia in me, I, like most people, are generally uncomfortable with scenes involving unselfconscious public child pummeling.
Still, it was occurring on my side of the street…and I though it would be rude to dodge across so as to avoid.
After she’d delivered six or seven thick spanks, she grabbed the weeping child’s hand and pulled him into a light trot down the sidewalk beside her.
“Ennis is stupid!” the boy cried.
The mother stopped mid-gait, crouched down and barked directly in the boy’s face “No, Ennis is not stupid. Ennis was right. You should know better than to take your pants off outdoors in the city. We discussed this just last night. You have to keep your pants on. Good boys keep their pants on. Ennis is not stupid. He’s just trying to keep your pants on.”
The child’s weeping softened to a low whimpering. His mother tugged him back into march-step.
Suddenly a piercing wail filled the air as the boy began bawling in earnest. “But that means I’m stupid!”
An awful realization. One we’ve all had, or perhaps still have, over and over again.
I’m pretty sure the mother stopped again, but I can’t be sure. I did, in the end, cross the road and start walking like I meant it.
