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My children are aliens

Please listen carefully. I may not have much time. You see, I believe my children are alien invaders who have taken over my life — and may soon conquer the planet. Now, imagine if you will the evidence.

A case of “Lost in Space?”
I have noticed a significant upturn in lost items since my children arrived. Watches, important notes and eyeglasses go missing frequently, often never to be returned. Have they been transferred to another dimension? And with the eyeglasses, are they targeted because my kids do not want me to see the tiny details of their dastardly plans? Jacob (2 � years old) seems to misplace his own things, sometimes within the space of a minute. Blankets, sippy cups, and “special rocks” go poof on such a regular basis that I know it’s intended to drive me insane. While I’m scouring the house for “babbas” or “pacies,” is he buying time to gather intelligence on me?

A real-life “X-File?”
Here’s a sample end-of-day conversation with my son Benjamin (6):

“What did you do in school, today?” I ask.

“I don’t want to talk about it,” he says.

“Did you learn any new ‘star’ words (notice they use galactic terminology for recurring words in sentences),” I continue.

“I’m tired,” he curtly replies.

He’s hiding something. He does all sorts of cool things — yet he won’t talk about it. One of the school activities he won’t discuss involves “missions” in which he and his friends run around, hiding and shooting lasers. They’re quick and sophisticated in their “fun.” It may seem harmless, but when I’ve dropped by the playground on a work break to say hi, why does he act like I’m not there? Is he embarrassed or concerned I might detect he’s really training for the full alien revolution?

The next generation of a “Star Trek?”
On a playdate, Benjamin told his friend Emma that he speaks with animals. “You’ll get plenty of conversation with lions.” When has he ever spoken with lions? Where did he get this power? Could he be an android? Benjamin does look a little pasty. Maybe it’s my wife’s over-application of sunscreen, but secret languages seem to be his thing.

Some of Benjamin’s favorite cartoons are in code. Can anyone over nine explain Pokemon or Yu Gi Oh and those strange card games that go with them? I am convinced these are programs developed by the creatures of my children’s mother planet, used to communicate with operatives on Earth.

Benjamin also loves Lilo & Stitch (coincidentally about an alien living in Hawaii) and speaks with his friends in “Stitch-talk.” On this one, other parents agree that it’s annoying. Yet they won’t concur that this is the language of extra-terrestrials involved in a conspiracy.

An “Invasion of the Body Snatchers?”
Now this: How can children stay in the pool for entire days while adults handle maybe half-an-hour. Aliens. Want more evidence? What does their skin look like after so much time soaking in the water? Science tries to explain the distortion, but we must give in to the obvious: water washes away the layer of fake skin to reveal their true forms. They are prune-like creatures. And all that prune fiber in their bodies must explain why they poop so much!

More signs pop up in restaurants. Children panic at the sight of servers because they think they’re taking notes and will report them to authorities. They also freak out at the presence of any food that doesn’t contain grease or sugar (the staples of alien diets, lucky them).

So what do they do? They scream, go into hysterics, anything to get out of the situation. I recall the shrill shriek of Donald Sutherland in the ’70s remake of Invasion of the Body Snatchers. Jacob does that shriek — and he has never seen the film! Then, how’s this for creepy? Why did Jacob recently put a crayon to my head and start coloring the balding patch? Is he trying to mark my cranium as an alien landing pad?

A “Close Encounter” ending?
I am trying, I really am, to explain all this eerie phenomena as normal human stuff. Infants come out of the womb looking like aliens, but are they really extra-terrestrials?

Growing up is painful and strange enough, what with trying to gain control in a world dominated by adults. Perhaps their languages and missions are ways to imagine that they are fighting many of the mysterious goings-on that will become clearer with age. And how do I explain all the love I have for them, the pride in their accomplishments, the joy of just hearing them call me “Daddy?”

Am I being manipulated? Maybe it’s already too late for me. Maybe, my ranting about kids-as-aliens is correct. But for all my fears about their other-worldly qualities, I am certain that once that mother ship arrives, I will willingly go with my children to the moon, the outer limits of space, wherever, as long as I am with them.

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