Okay Butt Hole

his is a fireless dragon the seven-year-old told me. He was coloring it all over the page in reds and purples. Long strokes, accidentally staying in the lines rarely. An artist in a frenzy. Hey, he says “Was Jesus born on the ground?” I don’t think so, I tell him. I think he was born in a manger Is that in heaven? No. In a stable. He gives me a condescending look. Then he throws his head back and laughs. He is with me because I am the school counselor And he does not want to be in his classroom. He wants to be with me. He is with me a lot. He tells me that the sandpile is a boy. I ask what he has named it. Bob. I say, “I am going to call you Bob.” He loves that. His grin is filling out to his ears as he colors. “Bob, Bob, Bob, Bob, Bob,” I sing. He grins so widely his teeth show. This almost never happens in class. Why don’t you nickname me? I suggest. “Okay,” he agrees. “Butt hole.” This is usually a four-year-old thing. I tell him we cannot say ‘but in school”. He is sharp. “But why not?” I say, “Give me another nickname”. “Okay, Fart head.” I tell him we can’t say fart either. He says “Dinosaurs were born before you even came to work here. The gas for your car is dinosaur’s poop.” I think to myself, he may be seven, but he loves bathroom words as much as four. words 259