April 23, 2012

Dear Babies,

“I know exactly what I’m getting,” I said to your father with glee on Saturday, getting us situated in a shady spot under a tree. “Curly fries, fried shrimp, a giant lemonade and a cajun pickle.” We were at a carnival and the weather was wonderful. The grass green. The animals from the petting zoo smelly. The rides shaky. The prizes googly-eyed and neon. We ordered greasy food from dirty trucks and had this little family picnic, if you can call it that with one member (you, Baby Boy) periodically running over to the ferris wheel and waving each time a dangling cart went by “Hi! Hi!”

I felt like a kid again, and I thought to myself, so this it. I looked around at everything I once looked out as fun, then came to look at as kitsch. Food that went from good, to bad, to so good it’s bad. I was so happy to realize I get to do this again. Been there, done that, Bob Dylan: I don’t want to turn around to see the frowns on the jugglers and the clowns any more. I don’t want to see the world as an adult, a world where we know. I would love to go back to a time when I thought the hardest word in the world to spell was yacht…

But, I know how silly this sounds.

I know how silly is the word silly.

There’s awful things in store for you guys in childhood, sure, braces, seventh grade, algebra. But…

Yesterday I read this great article on Big Think: “Killing Creativity: Why Kids Draw Pictures and Adults Don’t.”

(I couldn’t believe it! What timing!)

The author uses the project of artist Dave Devries called “The Monster Engine,” in which he paints the monsters that children draw realistically, to show the thought that for adults to be–or rather, remain–imaginative, we must think of ourselves as children. While yes, it is the child imagining the monster, it is the adult giving it depth, shape, realism, etc, organizing those thoughts. Therefore to create we should have a foot in both worlds…

This morning on the way to Whole Foods I put on Michael Jackson’s “Thriller.” There was a time when I thought I was going to marry him, you know. It was 1984 and the possibilities were endless.  I thought there still might be a living purple unicorn out there, and I would find him. I hoped. If not, then at least get to meet Frisco Jones…

I looked in the rearview mirror and you were both dancing. Clapping. Going wild.

You need me to put on the music. I need you to show me the moves.



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