I've met some amazing kids in the last three weeks. Not Nintendo junkies, princesses, or spoilt brats. These ones are down-to-earth as fresh green grass. They pull you out of yourself, into a world of inaccurate magic. Some of them I've known a while, and it's been gratifying to see them grow up, like a clacking Rolodex of Polaroids as they mature into the grounded young adults I hope they're going to be.
The Face of a Child Can Say a Lot, Especially the Mouth Part
Kids don't have mortgages, or hire purchase payments. They have much more interesting things to talk about, some of it funny nonsense, a lot of it so left-field it leaves you scratching your head for an answer. They keep you on your toes. With each utterance, such possibilities stretch before them- whereas so many adult tomorrows seem inevitable and leaden as the snooze button, a business suit, and the rush-hour.
Laughter and Other Injuries
Making a child laugh is the most awesome music in the world. I get off on it, even if it involves a painful disagreement with the basic Newtonian laws of physics, my advancing age, and a skateboard. I speak from experience, and have the bruises, and cherished, hand-clapping laughter to remember it by. I'm good with kids, I take pride in it, and they fill me with delight. This talent may spring from me being the mental age of 10, and thinking Spike Milligan the world’s finest poet, but who cares?
A Bad Stacked Deck
I'd love to get some of my own, but being bipolar is like playing Russian roulette with your progeny’s DNA. It is not a nice inheritance. So, I plan to remain the doting uncle Oswald, with sweets in my pockets, and shiny coins to induce them into death-defying wagers, which I always seem to lose.
That would make me happy.