Background: Like most five-year-olds, The Boy loves dinosaurs.
Unlike most five-year-olds, he’s totally, utterly, incredibly obsessed with them in a way that makes most paleontologists look like casual amateurs.
For example: Most kids may tell you a triceratops has three horns. The Boy will tell you that “‘Triceratops’ means ‘three-horned face. And did you know they lived in late cretaceous period, along with Taurasaurus? He didn’t use his horns for defense, since they weren’t around his neck or tummy, where most predators would bite. His horns and frill were probably used for display and to fend off rivals.”
Yes, he says stuff like that.
And yes, he understands it.
He also has a habit of inventing new dinosaurs, which is where our scene begins …
Scene: The Boy is talking about Ornithomimus, “one of the fastest dinosaurs to ever have lived,” which had been featured on PBS’ “Dinosaur Train” that morning. He decides to tell The Mrs about another fast dinosaur.
“You know what other dinosaur was really fast?” he asked.
“What’s that?”
“A Penisaurus.”
**blank stare**
“It does everything really, really fast and it’s really, really big; bigger than two houses stacked on top of each other!” he exclaims. He goes on to talk about how it lived in the Jurassic period, along with Stegosaurus.
Meanwhile, The Mrs tries to contain the jokes running around her brain — most of which relate to me. “So, um, really?”
“Uh huh.”
She starts to have a conversation with him about “bathroom words” and how you shouldn’t say them in public so he doesn’t share this new discovery at school.
Fast forward to later that evening, The Boy’s getting ready for bed. I’m reading The Boy his fave book: “Dinosaur Parade,” and am on the page with the ornithomimosaurs, all of which were quite fast. The Mrs is putting his laundry in his dresser.
“You know what other dinosaur was really fast?” he asks.
“What?” I reply.
“A pe — oh, wait. I’m not supposed to say that.” He whispers, “I was going to say ‘penisaurus,’ which was really, really fast and really, really big. And it was a meat eater.”
“That’s what she –” **THWACK** “– owww … ”
“Don’t. Even.” The Mrs shoots me the look all husbands have received at one point or another, then exits.
“So,” I ask, “Anything else about this dinosaur?”
“When it gets scared, it gets really, really small.”
**bank stare**
“So small it could fit into a tiny hole.”
As much as I wanted to yell, “HE WAS IN THE POOL!” The Boy wouldn’t get it … and The Mrs wouldn’t appreciate it.
The number of other jokes running around my head were many … so, so many. Perhaps its prey is a Poontangadon. Maybe it just feasted on clams. Possibly others of its kind preferred the dark meat of a chocostarfishalesthesis.
I’ll have to pay more attention to that DVD next time.
Regardless, not sure how this bodes for the future of paleontology. Although they do handle an awful lot of bones, so …
Daddyology 
