Never Confuse Nasty with Undesriable

I rented that old gem from France, "The Red Balloon", for the boys to watch, so that my children could be just as traumatized as I was at their age, watching eight-year-old hooligans-in-training, in their fascist-friendly schoolboy shorts, surround our friend Pierre and shoot down his beloved, if servile, red balloon with a hateful slingshot.

Actually, I wanted to insulate them as much as possible from that single "bad part" of an otherwise very childworthy movie. I had even prepped them for it the first time they watched it, so they wouldn't be doubly-disturbed by the element of surprise, or shock-and-awe.

Daniel was re-watching it sometime later, and as the Moment of Doom approached, I asked him if he would like me to start it up again from the beginning - kind of like giving him more viewing-time while sparing him the imminent trauma.

But Daniel is Daniel, and unsurprisingly, he said "I want to watch the bad part, where there are the kids that are the nasty kids."