He moved behind me, flanking my position on the carpet. I could sense his presence, which is not hard to fathom. What he did next was shocking.
He pulled both my arms around, bent them at the elbows, then collapsed on top of me: fifty pounds of weight, on my back, with my arms entangled at awkward angles.
He pulled a Nacho-Libre move on me! That little pecker, shit just got real!
The next night, we’re on the king size bed. I’m kneeling in front of him and he does a somersault right in front of me. The result? His feet come flying towards my face at a rapid clip. Had I not blocked his heel, my nose would have bent sideways.
With my mouth agape, I look at him and realize what he’s doing. My son is pretending to be a wrestler with the moves he learned from watching Nacho Libre – twice. Now, he’s Nacho Connor!
What was a fun movie to watch has now come back to haunt me. Now, every time I get into a wrestling match with him I have to wonder if his next move will be something along the lines Jimmy ‘Superfly’ Snuka used to pull back in the day.
My ‘dad advice’: don’t let toddlers watch Nacho Libre!
I’ve made mistakes as a parent. Anyone who cannot admit to doing so is either delusional or high on drugs (the latter is vehemently discouraged). This movie also does not convey or espouse limits: it pushes the boundaries too far.
The other risk is now if he wrestles with another kid, he has Nacho moves. Some innocent little tyke will have no idea what hit them when he (or she) is placed in a half nelson.
Now I have to use a disclaimer when we wrestle. It sounds like a bad pharmaceutical commercial:
“When you wrestle like Nacho Libre, side effects may include broken limbs, a smashed nose, bleeding from the lip and tooth loss. Punching and kicking like Nacho may cause result in a short temper, pissed-off spouse and blood in the urine when your toddler gives you a high-knee kick in the kidneys.”
Just say no to Nacho.