The Times

WHAT'S YOUR TYPE?

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THE BAD CHILDREN

Continued from page 9 more vividly when I found out what had happened to the end of my song about the wonderful parents; I had ended it with some trifling, amiable couplet, but now it read: "And what are we now, for our time and our prayers, our science fairs and cleaner airs and Papa Bears and anxious cares? -Squares." I made one desperate, ineffectual attempt to rescue the play and my moral lesson; I wrote an ending to it, in which by means of magic Hansel and Gretel are transformed i [?] sweet, dear, good, kind, little kiddies. The children threw it right out again. Hansel and Gretel stay horrid to the end. Now, beyond anything else, I am desperately afraid that they are going to try to perform the play. I am quite sure that we will be everlastingly disgraced if this souped-up fairy tale finds its cynical way onto a stage, and the thought that I am the official author terrifies me. I have suggested halfheartedly that they do "Pinafore" instead; I h [?] schemed and contrived to have the production put off until the fall school term on the grounds that it is too late in the year for any large-scale production, and I have secret hopes that some overwhelming new fad will sweep the country before fall. Unfortunately, the songs have gotten out, and I listen to little children going past our house on their way to school singing "You're mean . . . you're mean," and my own children and their friends do not tire of quoting lines to one another endlessly. In spite of every obstacle that I can put in their way, they have their cast and their parts, and everyone shows up for every rehearsal. They are using our barn for a theatre; when I pointed out that the barn was too dark, too drafty, and too dirty, they cleaned it out, hung old blankets over the windows, and arranged a set of footlights out of flash-lights. I said that maybe just the mommies and daddies ought to be invited, but there is a suspiciously great massing of benches and old garden chairs along one side of the barn. The enchanter is going to wear a derby hat. Hansel and Gretel have decided, after much deliberation, to wear cow-boy suits. The mother and father are joyfully ripping apart old shirts to deck themselves in rags. The witch is wearing high-heeled shoes, and she carries a long cigarette holder. Everyone shows up for every rehearsal. I got the last word, for what it is worth. Since I wrote the play, I insisted on the right to title it. It is called "The Bad Children; a play for bad children."

"Now you're the daddy and I'm trying to keep you alive." SUBURBIA TODAY