Good Guys and Bad Guys

I had just finished telling Stella a couple of bedtime stories. We love to read before bed, but Stella always begs for "a Mama story" when we've finished reading books. I'm pleased that my first critic approves of my storytelling abilities.

I told her a story, something pulled from my ass about a little girl named Stella who grew a garden, only to find all these different animals helping themselves to her vegetables. She talks to a rabbit eating a carrot, a squirrel eating a beet, a bird eating corn on the cob, and a worm eating a tomato. Story Stella talks to each animal and discovers their hardships and how they need the food even more than she does. The animals promise to start helping her with the garden, a community garden. You know, typical Commie parent propaganda.

But Stella's favorite part came at the end of the story when Story Stella finds a dog chewing one of her cucumbers. When Story Stella confronts the dog, he spits it onto the ground and says, "A cucumber? I thought I was eating a bone!"

I shouldn't have put in such a giggle-fit inducing ending. Instead of turning over and falling asleep like she usually does, she asked me to "lay under the universe with me, Mama." Hank had stuck an entire universe of glow in the dark stellar bodies on Stella's ceiling.

I closed her bedroom door so we could see the stars glow brighter and then I laid at her side. We sat in silence for a minute, then Stella said "The whole universe is so beautiful."

I kissed her cheek and said I agreed.

A few more moments of silence passed as we laid together in the universe. With a soft sleepy voice, Stella murmured, "Mama, why there never any bad guys in your Mama stories?"

I spoke softly, trying to lull her to sleep. "Because there are no bad guys in real life."

She wasn't yet sleepy enough to give up a good argument. "But there's bad guys in lots of stories, just not your Mama stories."

I smiled because she noticed something about me I had never noticed.

"I guess I just don't like to put bad guys in my stories because I don't believe in bad guys." I was still speaking softly because I really had to get her to sleep so I could get some writing done before it got too late.

"Like you don't believe in monsters?"

"Yes, exactly. Bad guys exist only in stories. Bad guys are just something storytellers make up to teach people right from wrong." I stroked her forehead, trying to get her to close her eyes.

"Like not hitting or yelling or biting or spitting or sticking your tongue on the butter?"

It was hard not to laugh, but I knew she was very serious. "Yes, Sweetie. But storytellers who only show the bad things so-called bad guys do are not showing us who the whole person is. They might not tell us that the bad guy just rescued a kitty or gave his hungry friend some food..."

Stella interrupted, "Or baked his kid some cookies?"

I smiled. "Yes, and when the storyteller only shows us the bad things a person does, it makes us think they only do bad things. But do you know anyone who only does bad things?"

Stella didn't answer. I turned to see if her eyes were closed, but they were wide open, looking up at the stars. After a long time she said, "No."

"Me either. I know lots of people who are basically good, but they sometimes make mistakes. Bad mistakes sometimes. And they just have to learn how to not make the same bad mistakes over and over again. So someone who hasn't learned how to not make bad mistakes over and over again is not a bad person. They just don't know any better."

I looked over at Stella and her eyes were closed, her lips parted slightly. I thought she was asleep, but after a few moments, she said, without opening her eyes, "Like when Dark Heart learns how to care!" Hank had recently brought over boxes full of his old VHS "Care Bears" movies.

"Yes, just like that."

Stella rolled over. I kissed her cheek and whispered in her ear, "Sweet dreams, Punky. I love you very much."

Stella's voice trailed off into dreamland, "I love you too, Mama."

Usually around five in the morning, Stella pads into our room and stuffs herself in between Hank and me, whimpering about a bad dream. She must not have dreamt of monsters or bad guys that night since when I woke up in the morning I went to check on her. There she was in her bed, peacefully asleep.