The unvoiced thoughts and ideas of a septegenarian.


on February 20, 2012



 I love little kids. Their curiosity and exuberance delight me. At my computer I encountered a glitch. An eight year old could figure this out I thought: “Send me an eight year old!”

 Are they paradoxes, enigmas or puzzles? Quite possibly all three. Curly haired, dimpled lunatics, energy cyclones are they. As toddlers they ask questions wise men cannot answer. They dance to no music. No animal is as inexhaustible as an excited infant. No scientist has as many questions as a five year old.

 On a rainy day don’t ask a child what he wants to do. What he wants to do you won’t want to watch.

 A toddler gets as much fun finding a small green worm as he does from a new swing set.

The sole purpose of being three or four is to enjoy being three or four: They’re too busy running, skipping, hopping to think of tomorrow.

 They’re healthy to have around. We quickly learn our limits of patience; better understand our beliefs. We learn there aren’t just seven wonders in the universe, there are seven million. If we’re lucky enough a child may let us share them.

 Children are not returnable: no rain checks are given; there are no loopholes in birth certificates.

 They are solid evidence that God has not given up on mankind.


Julie Rose


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