It was four o’clock when I let myself into my house. Since it was Tuesday, Mom and Dad would walk home from the college together around five, and later—around six thirty—we would eat Family Dinner, which in our house is an everyday thing. My parents take turns cooking. We sit in the dining room. I set the table, clear the table, and load the dishwasher.
As a little kid, I thought Family Dinner was normal. When later I realized no other family in the solar system operates like us, I wanted to know how I got so lucky (not!), and the parentals explained that they think it’s important to “have a ritual connection each day with those you love best.”
If you’re wondering, yes, I have pointed out we could ritually connect at Mickey D’s or KFC or by eating pizza from Bazzano’s in front of the TV—same as other people.
This argument gets me nowhere.
And last year one time, probably in the car, my mom told me something that made me sad. She said when my dad was little, he was always being left with babysitters so his parents could go to parties and plays and whatever, and he didn’t want to do the same thing to his kid, to me.
Basically, I am a nice guy. Not as nice as Clive, not as convinced I have a right to take up space in the universe, either, but still… nice. And after Mom told me that, I stopped complaining (so much) about Family Dinner.
My only homework that afternoon was geometry. For brainpower, I ate raspberry yogurt and Oreos, which must have worked because, leaning back against the pillows on my bed, notebook on my knees, I got the geometry done in twenty minutes.
After that it was time to read Hamlet.
The play is interesting, I guess. Once upon a time in Denmark, there’s a prince in a castle haunted by a ghost who claims to be his father, the king, who died not that long before the action begins. Only, according to the ghost, Hamlet’s father didn’t plain die; he was poisoned by the current king—Hamlet’s uncle Claudius, the villain.
So anyway, the ghost tells Hamlet he has to get revenge by killing Claudius and taking the crown for himself.
Meanwhile, there are all these other characters, like Hamlet’s mother, Gertrude, who is now married to Claudius (!), and this guy Polonius, who works for the government and makes long speeches and has a beautiful daughter, Ophelia, the one Madeline wanted to play, the one who’s all mushy-gushy over Hamlet.
We learned in English that stories have to have conflict. In Hamlet the conflict is kind of between Hamlet and Hamlet. In other words, he can’t decide what to do.
On the one hand, Hamlet wants to do what his father, the ghost, says because he wants to be a good son and, TBH, he’s not crazy about his uncle.
On the other hand, how can Hamlet be sure the ghost really is his father? Besides which, is Hamlet really up for killing anybody? Even a villain? Supposedly Hamlet is brave, but in the end he seems to me like more of a thinker type, killing not exactly his style.
I don’t want to give away the ending, except to say that Madeline must have misunderstood something. No poison. No blood. No swords. Ophelia doesn’t drown, either. She just goes for a moonlight swim.
Of course, like I explained, the script we had was the No-Trauma Drama version. Maybe the way Shakespeare wrote it was a little different.
(SCENE: Dining room, early evening. NOAH, DAD, and MOM are eating dinner.)