The innocence of simplicity of childhood leaves me with a sense of wonder, amusement and hope.
When they have a need, their only rule is immediate satisfaction. During a family gathering, as we all worked on arranging for a group photo, the smallest pre-schooler insisted she had to have a drink. Her mother offered her a sip of her cola. Totally oblivious to the dozen or so adults staring down at her, the big kids waiting impatiently and other preschoolers doing without for just a few more minutes, the child drank. She did not just take a sip, she drank and drank until that can sounded its last gurgle of soda.
Childhood retains the ability to be entertained with the simplest things with just a bit of imagination.
My daughter tossed a few blankets and pillows over a couch and chair to make a blanket tent for her daughters. Later, she overheard the following comments from inside the tent:
“No one knows we are in here, right?”
“Hey, do you love me more than stinky stuff?”
“It’s time to go to sleep. No! It’s morning time!”
Later, one emerged to say, “Mom, you’re the best mom ever. Thank you so much for building this tent for us!”
One season capitalizes on their imagination: Christmas. Even though we do not emphasize Santa Claus, the children still hear and see a lot of stories about him and have their own ideas.
This year, my daughter said, “One minute Caroline, 4, tells me Santa isn’t real, the next she is scolding me for not leaving out egg nog and cookies for Santa. Eli, 7, is a firm believer in Santa Claus. But Daisy, 2, well, she just wants her paci.”
Children see things differently. Christmas angels caught the attention of three-year-old Sam. As he studied pictures of the heavenly host, he asked, “Why do angels have bracelets on their heads?”
This same little fellow comes with the most cheerful, mischievous grin ever and a sense of humor to make his grandpa proud. The day his mother was making grilled cheese, Sam said, “I want a grilled cheese. … No. I want a man cheese.”
He won his momma’s heart the other night when he said, “Daddy, can I sit by Mommy? ‘cause she’s my best, bad lady.”
During their decade in the age of single-digits, it wonderful to watch children try to grasp what is in their future. Our seven-year-old grandson asked his dad one day, “Can I work wherever I want when I grow up?”
“Yes, if you go to school, it is likely you can choose what you will do.”
The lad has assessed his prospects, what he likes and declared his intent. “Well, when I grow up I want to be a park ranger at McCain Mall and eat at Mr. Dunderburk’s. ‘Cause it’s huge in there,” he said.
Right now, everything is huge to this halfing. He liberally salts his conversation with million and billion. When he is asked what he wants for a gift, he insists he wants a million, billion, billion, trillion Lego blocks. We told him that infinity was always larger, but he stuck with his millions and billions and Lego blocks.
Only a child dares ask so rashly. We saw the same thing recently when the missionaries Jacob and Linda Weibe spoke to the Awana children. The evening plans included rewarding the kids who had completed half their book work with the privilege of putting a pie in the face of an adult leader.
The visiting missionaries seriously talked about their work, about sharing the message of the Gospel with the different communities and the spiritual progress. It was an inspiring talk. We asked if any of the children had a question.
Little hands went up around the room. The first question was an eager, “Can I pie you tonight?”
Jacob graciously stayed and let that child – and others – pie him. He knows, from having children of his own, that conversations with children do take these unexpected turns.
As there was an unexpected turn to my phone conversation with my granddaughter last week.
She asked why I didn’t have any kids.
I said that her mom was my daughter.
“No, she isn’t,” she half scoffed and half laughed.
“Yes, she is. She is my daughter and she has five brothers.”
“That is a lot of brothers. I have one brother and one sister.”
“I guess you need more brothers. You need to go to the store and buy another brother,” I teased.
“You can’t go buy people,” she laughed.
“You can’t?”
“No.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yes,” she laughed at silly Grandma.
It would be great to hope that by the time she understands the darker side of the world that her innocent statement as a child will be the truth.
(Joan Hershberger is a staff writer at the News-Times and author of “Twenty Gallons of Milk.” Email her at joanh@everybody.org)