Most of your most famous monsters don't really think of themselves as monsters. Your King Kong, your Wolf Man, your Frankenstein's Monster. That last one is, admittedly, a bit of a giveaway, but it brings me back around to my point. There comes that tragic moment when the beast confronts the fact that he, invariably "he," is the scary one. Tragic, really.
And so it was with Fang Monster.
Oh. You aren't familiar with the story of Fang Monster? Perhaps the most frightening creature ever to haunt the halls of my parents' house. On any given Friday night when my parents were out for the evening. Fang Monster would chase my friend and I around the house, up the stairs, down the stairs. We were terrified. The most visceral memory I have of those nights was sitting with both of our backs against the wall with our legs bracing against my bedroom door as Fang Monster shoved and snarled and pounded on the other side. My friend and I had no idea what might happen if somehow Fang Monster would break through. What did he want? Why was he so enraged?
Fang Monster did not want to be a monster. Fang Monster was my younger brother. He had no idea that he was a monster. He just wanted to be able to play with his older brother and his friend. The terms were pretty simple: If you want to play with us, you're going to have to be the bad guy. The rules were simple. Fang Monster chase.
You know the part in the movies where the monster is antagonized by the villagers carrying torches and pitchforks? My friend and I were doing that with peer pressure. Which is worse than torches and pitchforks. My friend and I created a monster. Fang Monster.
Today is Fang Monster's birthday. And the greatest gift I can imagine is this: I'm sorry. You didn't sign up to be a monster. You're not a monster.
We were.
AWwwwwwvw!
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