Simon Birch Page #4

- Not unless it's a dead puppy.

Yeah. He wouldn't bring

a dead puppy on the first date.

It's something else.

I bet he's just putting us on.

I bet there's nothing even in there.

He's just playing a joke on us.

Go ahead and open it.

- I'm not opening it.

- Don't you wanna see what's inside?

What I want to do and what I do

are two separate things.

If we all went around doing what we

wanted all the time, there'd be chaos.

You open it.

- The prop.

- What was that?

It's a monster!

- You're okay.

- Help!

Isn't he terrific?

- He's going to eat us.

- You're okay.

It's just an armadillo.

- A what?

- It's a stuffed armadillo. See?

I picked it up on my way

through San Antonio last week.

It's not that bad

once you get used to it.

What do you think, Joe?

- I don't want it.

- Can I have it?

Well, why don't you, uh,

uh, give it a chance!

Maybe it'll grow on you.

So Shirley Temple

says to Senator McCarthy...

- I didn't say, "commie,"

I said, "Moppie."

Uh, Mom?

Can Simon sleep over?

We wanna spend the night out

under the stars.

Sure, honey, as long as it's

all right with Simon's parents.

- They don't care.

- Will you do me a favor anyway

and call them?

- Yeah?

- Can I sleep over at Joe's tonight?

- I don't care.

- I'm ready for my good-night kisses.

- Oh, Mom.

- Me first! Me first!

Oh, don't you "oh, Mom" me.

Get up here. Mm-whaa!

Good night, honey.

Love you.

Simon, isn't it

a little cool outside?

Don't you think

you need a sweater?

It's hard to find sweaters

my size.

They have to make them special

and my dad says they're too expensive.

- How about that?

- Thank you, Miss Wenteworth.

- Mm. Love you.

- Good night, Ben Goodrich!

Bonsoir Monsieur Birch.

Buenas noches,

Senor Wenteworth.

You boys stay in the yard.

I like him.

I don't.

Maybe God sent him

to be your father.

God sent me a screwball

with an armadillo?

God has a plan for everyone,

including Ben Goodrich.

Well, he's not

my father.

My real father

is out there somewhere.

Mr. Hanson has your eyes.

- The shop teacher?

- And he's a lefty, like you.

That's 'cause he chopped off

his right thumb with the table saw.

I didn't say

he was a natural lefty.

Maybe he chopped off his thumb

on purpose to show your mother...

how much he loved her,

like Van Gogh with his ear.

I can't see my mom being attracted

to a metal shop teacher.

Art or English maybe,

but not metal shop.

I don't understand

why she doesn't just tell you.

You're already a bastard.

You might as well be an enlightened one.

- She said she'd tell me

when I'm old enough.

- When's that?

I don't know.

Soon, I hope.

Things were getting

serious between my mother...

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