{"id":86802,"date":"2015-06-19T13:29:27","date_gmt":"2015-06-19T17:29:27","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/www.theparisreview.org\/blog\/?p=86802"},"modified":"2015-06-24T15:27:38","modified_gmt":"2015-06-24T19:27:38","slug":"mister-sun","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/www.theparisreview.org\/blog\/2015\/06\/19\/mister-sun\/","title":{"rendered":"Mister Sun"},"content":{"rendered":"
\"Albert_Anker_-_Knabenbildnis_(02)\"<\/a>

Albert Anker, Portrait of a Boy<\/i>, nineteenth century.<\/p><\/div>\n

Like many small children, my brother was an accomplished con artist. And as is often the case with little boys, his manipulations were most effective when applied to his mother. I can particularly recall one bit of business he\u2019d pull between the ages of about three and five, when we were at the market and he didn\u2019t feel like walking. He\u2019d gaze up at her beseechingly, bat his eyelashes, and simper, \u201cI\u2019ll carry your bundles if you carry me!\u201d<\/p>\n

By this point, I had decisively lost my looks: at seven I was a scrawny, buck-toothed gnome with a waxen complexion and a mullet, usually stalking around in pantaloons and a sunbonnet. Charlie, on the other hand, was still cherubic. <\/p>\n

Sometimes I\u2019d use his looks to my advantage; \u201cSing \u2018Mister Golden Sun\u2019,\u201d I would hiss. And if it suited our joint interests\u2014say, a buttered roll from the deli or maybe dinner in front of the TV\u2014he would comply, breaking into a song he had learned at nursery school.<\/p>\n

\n

Oh, Mr. Sun, Sun, Mr. Golden Sun,
Please shine down on me.<\/p>\n

Oh Mr. Sun, Sun, Mr. Golden Sun,
Hiding behind a tree<\/p>\n

These little children are asking you
To please come out so we can play with you.<\/p>\n

Oh Mr. Sun, Sun, Mr. Golden Sun,
Please shine down on,
Please shine down on,
Please shine down on me.<\/p>\n<\/blockquote>\n

Needless to say, there were accompanying gestures\u2014forming the rays of the sun with one\u2019s arms\u2014and all manner of mugging. It was revolting. It was electrifying. And it was deeply effective. Afterward, of course, we\u2019d triumphantly bear our trays of macaroni and cheese upstairs to watch Fort Apache<\/em> or the Disney Robin Hood. <\/em><\/p>\n

It seemed to me that Charlie got away with everything, and that his gall and mendacity knew no normal human bounds. Our parents were not especially strict\u2014we spoke of families rumored to employ corporal punishment with hushed horror\u2014but even by their standards, he was, I felt, indulged. Not that I wanted to get away with the same things. What use did I have for Legos or for being carried around the Affordables children\u2019s thrift shop? I was furtive, certainly, but since what I was trying to conceal was usually, like, digging a root cellar, no one took much notice. In the depths of my heart, I admired him immensely.<\/p>\n

As he aged, however, his manipulative tendencies began to approach bad-seed-level sociopathy. This came to a horrifying head when Charlie was about nine. We were in a crowded elevator in a Pennsylvania antiques mall. \u201cYou wouldn\u2019t hit me here, would you, Mommy?\u201d he said loudly. \u201cNot in front of all these people!\u201d<\/p>\n

My mother went pale. Eyes turned on us in horror as my brother cowered in a corner, looking pathetic, while a malicious grin pulled at the corner of his mouth.<\/p>\n

Was he getting some sort of obscure revenge? Had he been thwarted in some way\u2014denied a trinket or a sweet? I\u2019m not sure. Maybe it was a raw, arbitrary display of power.<\/p>\n

Once we were safely free of the elevator\u2014and the strangers had possibly gone to alert Child Protective Services\u2014Charlie dissolved in hilarity and danced around with triumphant glee. My mom, deeply shaken, spoke to him sternly: that kind of thing isn\u2019t a joke, people really do<\/em> hurt their children, you could be taken away from us. When my dad appeared and she informed him of the events, the lecture was repeated. But then, Charlie had understood all that\u2014why would he have bothered otherwise? And even then, I thought I glimpsed in my parents\u2019 eyes a spark of horrified respect at the extent of his daring. Or maybe I was just projecting; maybe they were really scared.<\/p>\n

Anyway, it\u2019s now ascended into family legend. And it\u2019s inappropriate for Father\u2019s Day, maybe, but there it is.<\/p>\n

Sadie Stein is contributing editor of <\/em>The Paris Review, and the <\/em>Daily\u2019s correspondent.<\/em><\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

Like many small children, my brother was an accomplished con artist. And as is often the case with little boys, his manipulations were most effective when applied to his mother. I can particularly recall one bit of business he\u2019d pull between the ages of about three and five, when we were at the market and […]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":178,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"closed","ping_status":"closed","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"_acf_changed":false,"footnotes":""},"categories":[13115],"tags":[14592,8892,18511,18512,14918,7216,13375,18513,13487,18510],"class_list":["post-86802","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-our-daily-correspondent","tag-boyhood","tag-childhood","tag-cons","tag-cuteness","tag-family-life","tag-lies","tag-singing","tag-sociopathy","tag-songs","tag-tricks"],"acf":[],"yoast_head":"\nCuteness for Fun and Profit<\/title>\n<meta name=\"description\" content=\"Sadie Stein on her brother\u2019s boyhood charm offensive.\" \/>\n<meta name=\"robots\" content=\"index, follow, max-snippet:-1, max-image-preview:large, max-video-preview:-1\" \/>\n<link rel=\"canonical\" href=\"https:\/\/www.theparisreview.org\/blog\/2015\/06\/19\/mister-sun\/\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:locale\" content=\"en_US\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:type\" content=\"article\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:title\" content=\"Mister Sun by Sadie Stein\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:description\" content=\"June 19, 2015 \u2013 Like many small children, my brother was an accomplished con artist. 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