King for a Week

Two years ago, I ruled my own little world as King.

Day 1

Daniel's eyes opened wide and he smiled for just an instant after I told him my plan for the week. Then he slowly started frowning. "What's the matter?" I asked. "Why don't you like my idea?"

"Because you'll be in charge of everyone," he said.

Exactly! Smart boy.

I have declared myself King For A Week, the ruler of all I survey, and even those people and places I can't quite survey.

Those around The King shall call me Your Majesty, Your Royal Highness, or simply King John.

When I told Daniel's young friends Emma and Abby they could call me King John if they wished, Daniel took the opportunity to say, "I think we should call you King Ding Dong." And so began the "King Ding Dong" chant by my three young servants.

The young prince has much to learn, but since I am a benevolent ruler, I have yet to banish him to the tower/his bedroom.

To learn what it takes to be a king, I typed the phrase "king for a day" into a search engine and lucked out. "Fantasy Island," the Mr. Rourke- and Tattoo-driven 1970s TV show featured a first-season episode with exactly that title, which I immediately watched.

It featured Bosley from "Charlie's Angels" as a Kansas plumber who wished to be treated like royalty. He got his own country, his own flag, servants, and a cool red sash.

Since I'm King of all I survey, I don't need a country, but a flag, servants, and most importantly, a wardrobe upgrade would be nice.

I started with the clothes, and I changed into casual king wear. I donned a shirt with the royal crest of the Avalon Regatta, then I found a red, white, and blue ribbon and a medal I'd won in a 5K.

Next, I wrapped a red-and-blue tie over my shoulder and taped the ends together to make a royal sash. I found a metallic paintbrush extender in the basement to use as a scepter.

The final piece of my wardrobe meant a trip with the prince to a regal destination: Burger King. I like to associate with other kings, plus I needed a crown for my sovereign noggin. Voila--my royal look was complete!

My ensemble obviously conveyed my importance. Three times during the day my wife, Queen Linda--I've given her limited powers--said something to the effect of, "You're the king, whatever you want."

That made The King think. Perhaps The King is not too bright if it took him all of these many weeks before The King finally came up with the golden idea that gets him whatever he wants.

The King doesn't want to think about that right now. Where's my court jester?

Day 2

"Kings are not born: they are made by artificial hallucination," said George Bernard Shaw.

In my case, truer words were never spoken. Still, my family's ancestry does include brushes with royalty.

My great-great-great-great-great-great grandfather was the curator of the Royal Gallery of Paintings under France's King Louis XVI, and his son went on to become the first Mayor of Paris in 1789 during the French Revolution.

However, I haven't learned much from my family's French dip into royalty because I initially acted too much like a commoner to start the week.

I was still doing household chores, still cleaning up, even still answering the phone and talking with the hoi polloi.

I was emptying the clothes dryer Monday night when Queen Linda pointed out the obvious. "A king wouldn't do that," she said.

God save the Queen, she was right. I need less Martin Luther King and more Don King. I shouldn't be helping my fellow man, but looking down from a lofty perch at the peons below.

As I started to empty the dishwasher mid-day Tuesday, I stopped as I grabbed the first glass. Manual labor is beneath The King, I realized.

I put the glass back in the dishwasher; the servants can empty the dishwasher and fill it with the dirty dishes in the sink.

The King has more important endeavors. I retired to my throne and channel-surfed--or would it be channel-serfed?--knowing there had to be a "Cheers" re-run airing somewhere.

My friend Tim called and asked about the state of the kingdom. I told him of The King's new anti-menial labor revelation.

Of all people, I figured he'd empathize with my newfound royal arrogance since he calls me Movie Snob. I accept that nickname proudly, having earned it because I refuse to watch any cookie-cutter bro-mantic "comedies," especially ones starring Ben Stiller or Vince Vaughn.

"You're not going to do anything around the house?" Tim asked. "Good luck with that, King. I give you til Friday, but I hope that lasts for you."

Hmmm, I hadn't considered the possibility of a coup. Again, I haven't learned from my family's history. My ancestor who was the Mayor of Paris, Jean-Sylvain Bailly, was beheaded in 1793 as the revolution turned on its leaders.

"Uneasy lies the head that wears a crown." Indeed, even if it is just a Burger King crown.

Day 3

I got a healthy sampling of how younger people will treat me and my odd ideas when I'm in my 90s and living in my retirement villa in Hawaii. (That seems like a good place for a king to retire.)

I told Caitlin that I was King for a week, and she reacted like I said I wanted to wear my shoes as earmuffs: "Oooo-kay. That's nice. Good for you."

Similarly, as I prepared to take Prince Daniel and two of his friends to see, fittingly, "The Princess and the Frog," the girls' mom, Coleen, called with a concern.

Her kids feared that King John might dress in full regalia--including the Burger King crown--on the trip to the movies. "They're seriously worried," Coleen laughed.

I told her I'd tone it down and wear just the royal sash and the medal. This was yet another one of my King Solomon-like judgments this week.

Unlike Solomon, however, I use a special method for particularly thorny questions: Rock-Paper-Scissors.

This technique is especially helpful when I'm challenged by Daniel, who always puts down Rock as I Paper him into defeat.

Maybe one day I'll wear my shoes as earmuffs, but for now I'm still smart enough to out-wit a 7-year-old. It's good to be King.

Days 4 & 5

The King and the royal family visited with several of our loyal subjects on New Year's Eve. As Tom Petty sang, "It's good to be king/Of your own little town."

On one visit, I named my Court Jester, Phil--it takes a great fool to know one--and met my most knowledgeable subject on the topic of kings. Gray had read about European royal traditions and quickly got me up to speed.

For example, when subjects enter a room with a king, they should bow three times: first, upon entering, secondly, halfway to the king, and finally once again in front of the king.

Gray bowed to me in demonstration, but the Queen and Court Jester refused.

I think I need a Royal Enforcer.

Gray also informed us that subjects should never turn their back on the King--because we Kings would stab them???--and that no one should speak to the King unless spoken to.

Oh, does the Queen have much to learn.

I was on the verge of creating a high-ranking position in my court for Gray, Royal Vizier perhaps, or Royal Scholar. But moments later, she eyed me in my royal sash, medal, and holding my scepter, and laughed, "You look ridiculous."

I definitely gotta find my own Andre the Giant from The Princess Bride. I wonder what kind of replies I'd get if I placed an ad on Craig's List: "Wanted: my own personal Giant?

Later, even the royal princess pushed my regal limits. Weeks ago, Daniel made up a word that was a mash-up of chubby and plump: chumpy. I won't say when he uses the word "chumpy," but it certainly motivates me to go for a run.

Now, Caitlin took the word a step further. "You're K.O.C., Dad," she said with a smile. I smiled back, thinking there was a compliment there somewhere, and asked what it meant.

"King of Chumpies," she said, and wisely took off running with the King in pursuit and ready to crown her with the royal scepter.

Fortunately, my subjects were more loyal by night's end as we approached the start of a new year. At Tim and Coleen's house, our friend Debbie bowed in my presence, and 4-year-old Maureen sported a tiny comb in her hair shaped like a tiara in my honor.

Now that's how the King should be treated. Maybe I'll hold off for now on hiring a tough guy and just collect some resumes in case.

Days 6 & 7

I chose to wear the full formal royal regalia for the weekend, breaking out a suit jacket and pants to go along with my crown, medal, sash, and scepter.

I felt regal, though I had my critics. "Is this the first time you've worn a suit in 10 years?" Caitlin asked.

The Queen had her own concerns, too, perhaps centered around preserving her royal status. "Why are you dressed up--are you about to be deposed?" she asked.

They just don't realize the sacrifices required of a King. Like how uncomfortable a suit jacket is when you haven't worn one two days in a row in more than 10 years.

Growing up, I attended Catholic high school so I wore a suit jacket every day. I remember two that stand out in my mind and make me wonder why anyone got within 10 feet of me.

The first was a purple-plaid thing--yes, purple-plaid--that was topped only by my other favorite, a green-and-brown plaid jacket colored to resemble Thanksgiving leftovers of lima beans and turkey gravy.

I thought both jackets made me look cool and hot at the same time, which explains why I wore them more than Cosby wore sweaters.

Both were my brother's hand-me-downs from the 1970s, the decade that delivered disco and bell bottoms. Not surprisingly, my jackets were as cool as Barry Manilow.

But that was then and this is now. Once again, I thought I looked cool and hot in my regalia and people took notice.

I dropped Daniel off at a friend's house, and, after sizing me up with a "What now?" glance, the mom offered a helpful tip as I left. "Don't lose your crown in the wind."

Caitlin, Daniel and I went to the store for ice cream after Sunday dinner, and as we pulled into the parking lot, we noticed a police car. "Maybe you'll get arrested for weirdness," Daniel said.

As often happens when I wear odd outfits, no one said a word, though I caught the cashier looking at my crown and medal enviously.

Caitlin later said she saw two people she knew in the store, but she didn't introduce me to them. Imagine that.

My reign as King Of All I Survey may have been short but I believe I'll go down in history as one of the better recent kings.

Not quite Stephen King or Larry King, but slightly better than bankrupt clothing retailer Chess King.