We have forgotten how to be kids, huh?
Wouldn’t it be great
if there was a Charter School that
were mandated to attend
O F T E N
to learn how to be a kid again
or merely stay a child
or to dare be a child. . .
Kids would be teachers
and we’d all major in
R E C E S S
We’d learn their math
(That 1 + 1 = way more than two)
we’d learn their language
we’d learn their dream power
we’d learn their art techniques
we’d sing their kind of music
we’d have lunch time of ice-cream and cotton candy for a day
we’d major in mud puddle jumping
J U S T B E C A U S E
like Miss Emma
my colleague, Rachel’s daughter
who found pure joy
not by walking the zoo and seeing all of the animals
but finding a puddle shortly after a rain storm
and being ALLOWED by mom
to jump away happily. . .
ahhhhh. . .
to jump untethered in a mud puddle
or to go fishing in it and expect so much to catch fish
so much so
that you actually bring the tartar sauce along. . .
Pablo Picasso was right, wasn’t he:
“EVERYTHING YOU CAN IMAGINE IS REAL; EVERY CHILD IS AN ARTIST, THE PROBLEM IS HOW TO REMAIN AN ARTIST ONCE HE GROWS UP.”
This past weekend I became a child again. . .
but it was even more momentarily
than my several firsts go throughs. . .
We visited our daughter Zoe, our son-in-law Mark and our
granddaughter, Evey . . .
. . .literally moments before we were leaving
Eve forget to hold on to a coffee table and took
6-8 unassisted steps
and made us feel like we were taking our
First few steps. . .
my 62 year old heart
beat excitedly younger. . .
Some 12 hours later
a large part of our family gathered together
to celebrate my dad’s Birthday
We sang HAPPY BIRTHDAY
ate cake, cupcakes, Birthday potluck foods
and celebrated that
L I F E
is never made up from how many Candles are found on a Cake
so much as
M O M E N T S
. . .m o m e n t s
that aren’t defined by any age
so much as the endless child inside of us
desperately fighting to simply remain
a c h i l d
reaching for a hand to hold
a dream to imagine
a song to sing
a jingle to dance
a food to eat
a picture to create
and yes. . .
a puddle to jump into
again and again and again and. . .
Just in time to jump into a pile of leaves that begs never to be left alone
Life is filled with
F I R S T S T E P S
and D A N C I N G
our A-B-C’ S
is our forever
T O D A Y
and that our best creations
are very next ones. . .
Now, that’s worth singing
H A P P Y B I R T H D AY
with the loud refrain of
O N E M O R E T I M E