“And Then the Blood Sucking Aliens Came Down From Outer Space”

The trials and tribulations of raising imaginative children


Don’t get me wrong. I think all children are imaginative. I think having a father who watches cartoons with you, makes up songs and stories to entertain you tends to encourage it even more. Of course, letting them watch monster movies with me, and the sci-fi channel late at night, probably doesn’t encourage that much in the way restrained imagination.

Still, I do try. Once when we were driving to the airport with the Barbie dolls exhibiting amazing super powers while fighting off various monsters I kept getting suspicious looks from my sister-in-law. Finally, in the hopes of restoring at least part of my reputation as a parent, I said “Girls, can’t you have your Barbie’s do something a little more reasonable?”

There were complaints from the back seat in the van, but their game resumed with their dolls going on a drive to the beach for a picnic. My sister-in-law smiled as the descriptions of swimming in the surf and setting up for a day in sun floated forward. I relaxed a little and eased back in my seat in the hopes that the rest of the trip to the Atlanta airport would pass without incident.

Several minutes passed as the dolls swam and tanned on their beach in the back seat. The boy dolls, who were all headless for reasons I don’t even want to go into, were riding in the boat while the girls tried to teach them how to drive a jet ski. Then it happened, just as the boys were pulling the boat up on the “beach” and the girls had reluctantly allowed them to try the Jet Ski. The boys went over their first waves, and I heard a phrase come from the back seat that made me sink down into my seat.

“Ken turns back toward the beach to wave at the popular girls and then the blood sucking aliens come down from outer space and eat his brain.”

“Right!” chimes in my other daughter. “So the popular girls slip into their super suits and race to save the boys from the aliens.”

I glanced over to where my sister-in-law was looking at me.

“So, what was that movie you had them watching last night?”

I sighed. So much for a quiet trip. “Alien Resurrection.”

She nodded, as the descriptions of blood shed and gore continued from the back seat. The boys had been rescued, except for poor Ken whose brain was irretrievably consumed, and the girls were clearly decimating the aliens. They had apparently picked the wrong beach to try to harvest from.

“And that movie on Saturday?”

“Something about giant mosquitoes. The girls thought it was hilarious because it was so obvious that they were made of plastic. After all, their wings didn’t even move.”

This time the sighs were from the passenger seat as I tried to smile a little.

“And the cartoon this morning?”

“The Power Puff Girls? Oh, come on. They’re the good guys, they always pick up their room, they’re always in bed on time and they mind their father.”


“Right. When they’re not beating up villains?”

“Exactly,” I said, sparing a glance from the traffic. She was smiling, but the smile wasn’t exactly warm. Not quite a blood sucking alien, but something about it reminded me of the last Jacques Cousteau special I had seen.

“What was it you wouldn’t let them watch?”

“The Grim Adventures of Billy and Mandy. You have to draw the line somewhere.”

“I love that show, Dad. Can’t I watch it when we get home?” came a helpful voice from the back seat.

Don’t get me wrong: I’m all for limiting what and how much television children watch. And there are things that I DON’T let them watch because of the pointless violence, or because I can’t see any redeeming value in it. At the same time, I realize that they find things funny that I don’t. Let’s face it, eight-year olds find farting and burping hilarious. I don’t know that many adults that do.

There have been shows that I saw good values in that my children thought were hilarious that other people, including my wife, thought were horrible or disgusting. One that comes to mind is “Courage the Cowardly Dog”. His skin regularly comes off, his teeth have holes in them, and numbers of disgusting and impossible things happen. But, and to me this is important, Courage is an absolute coward, but he’s willing to endure any hardship, face any danger, if his owner Muriel is in danger because of his love for her. My children might be laughing, and it might be disgusting, but they’re learning that someone would set aside their fears to protect the ones they love.

When they play I encourage them to use their imagination as much as possible. I remember being a child and having my two-gun holster belt strapped around my chest because I was using it for an air tank, and I was joining Lloyd Bridges in exploring the world of the sea. It’s regular for my daughter’s to be princesses or doctors or scientists or any number of other things, just as my son was a race car driver, a wizard and so forth. I think that by encouraging them to imagine what they could be and to pretend to do things that I know are impossible (like walking barefoot on the moon) they’re willing to explore more options when it comes to solving problems.

Okay, blood sucking aliens might be over the top but they enjoy themselves. And the older they’ve gotten the fewer alien attacks there have been. Now the dolls tend toward trips to the mall, school, dances, and parties. But they’re still having fun.