If you watch “Doctor Who,” you’ll know the Ood — the aliens with flaps of skin on their faces that look like fleshy noodles. They revolt me. My 9-year-old finds this fact endlessly amusing.
Then one morning over a diner breakfast as he imitated various characters from the British sci-fi show, he asked what I would do if an Ood suddenly appeared before me.
“I’d turn my back,” I said, explaining when asked that it’s because the Oods gross me out.
He had a problem with that.
“I wouldn’t do that because they used to be slaves, and now they are there to help people,” he said. “I have a problem treating others like that."
I told him he was right, patting him on the back for his sensitivity. I’ve tolerated “Doctor Who” as I’ve tolerated other television that Harrison likes to watch, believing that if I allow it only in small doses that it won’t melt his brain quite as much. After he convinced me to watch the show together, I’ve allowed myself to join this fantastical world with him and see it through his eyes. And I’m impressed.