While getting ready to send my oldest off to middle school this morning, the following conversation took place:
Daughter : “Daddy, I was talking to one of my friends about Shakespeare at school yesterday…”
Me : “Oh? What about?”
Daughter : “She said she read a book and she doesn’t think Shakespeare wrote Sh…”
Me : “You punch her! You punch her right in the face!”
Daughter : <starts laughing hysterically>
Me : “I am completely and totally serious, you say ‘This is from my Dad!’ and then BOOM, right in the nose. And then when her hands go up to protect her bloodied and broken face? BOOM! You give her the ol’ upper cut to the solar plexus.”
DISCLAIMER : Do not punch Oxfordians in the face. They’ve already got enough personal problems without having to worry about their health insurance premiums increasing.
I did go on to offer at least the basics of the authorship issue (which we’ve certainly covered in my house before), suggested that she almost certainly read a book about Oxford (to which my daughter bless her geeklet heart said, “I thought it was Francis Bacon?”), and that she could explain to her friend should the conversation come up again that there have been about 77 contenders for the Shakespeare throne, and if it’s all the same with her, we’ll stick with the guy whose name is on the front of the book.