synapticjava (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
synapticjava) wrote2003-12-03 01:34 am
synapticjava) wrote2003-12-03 01:34 am
What I Wouldn't Give
Kinda long...
What I Wouldn’t Give
April, 2000
What I wouldn’t give to be a kid again.
To climb a tree, for no other reason than just to climb it, to the highest bough, and not worry about falling.
To build a tree-house in that same tree, even if it is really just a few slats of graying wood nailed to a tree with ancient, rusty nails
To be fearless enough to poke the tiny snake with a stick, while it slithers away into the bushes, and to offer the stray cat some food from the palm of my hand and not worry about disease.
To think that imagination is the greatest thing ever invented. It can be used to fight off the enemy aliens, or to dream of far away lands in which pigs fly, animals talk, and where the sun always shines.
To wear a homemade paper hat and sit in a cardboard box, and be fighting a sea battle with pirates, and to win and become the master of the seven seas.
To sit in the shade of a huge oak tree, and look to the passing clouds and make them into shapes – a fire engine, a tree, a cat, a wagon, a unicorn, a pirate ship – on a warm, breezy summer day.
To be hunting for tigers in the wild African jungles, even if you are really just looking for your lost cat in the park.
To go out and play in the rain, loving the feeling of the water running down from your head to your toe, and then to jump and splash in the puddles after the rain fades into a beautiful sunny day.
To pick a bunch of dandelions, so pretty in a field of green, to give to mother for her birthday, but stopping before you go to pick the flower with all the fuzzy white balls on it, and twirl around and scatter them into the wind, never to be seen again.
To feel that tinge of excitement when that darn tooth finally falls out, leaving behind a small reminder that, maybe an apple a day only pulls out your poor teeth, and then just barely missing, because you fell asleep, the tooth fairy’s arrival, bringing you something that makes the pain worth it.
To go down to the lake and sit at the end of the dock, fishing with only a wooden stick with a string tied to it and maybe perhaps some old bread for bait, dangling your bare feet into the chilly water, but loving the feel of the water sloshing between your toes.
To try to stay up all night long, clutching the flashlight as if perhaps if you let it go, you’ll surely fall into a giant abyss, waiting for any moment, the monster to jump out of the closet and carry you to closetland.
To rub your cheeks gently, which are still red and burning, after Aunt Gertrude and Uncle Leonard ambushed you at the family barbecue on the patio, exclaiming how long it’s been since they’ve seen you, and oh how you’ve grown, growing like a weed!
To feel the wind blowing through your hair as you take that first wild ride on your very own bicycle, going faster and faster until you realize that you don’t know how to stop, and topple over into the bushes, crying from the scrape on your knee, yet laughing at the excitement.
To pack up your necessities—teddy-bear, favorite shirt, which has been worn a million and one times, some clean underwear, as mother always said, the picture of your parents from their bedside table, and a peanut butter and jelly sandwich—and run away from home, because your mom told you to clean your room, but you’re forced to go back when you get to the end of the block, not only because you already miss everyone terribly, but because you just remembered-you’re not allowed to cross the street.
To wake up on Christmas morning, see the sun streaming in through the window, and running down the stairs to the living room, and before you even see the star of the brilliantly lit and decorated tree, stopping to take a moment on the last stair to say a quiet, but heartfelt, thank you to the big man in red for all that you are about to discover under the tower of evergreen, blinking lights, and ornaments from the year 1982, then tearing through the brilliantly colored paper-wrapped gifts, whether they’re yours or not, until you find the one you’re looking for, the one that you’ve wanted since July.
To wonder if the fruit in the basket on the table is real, or wax. After all, you wouldn’t want to make that mistake again.
To believe that anything is possible and that a stranger is just a friend waiting to be made.
To trust everyone, and doubt nothing.
What I wouldn’t give to be an innocent again.
What I Wouldn’t Give
April, 2000
What I wouldn’t give to be a kid again.
To climb a tree, for no other reason than just to climb it, to the highest bough, and not worry about falling.
To build a tree-house in that same tree, even if it is really just a few slats of graying wood nailed to a tree with ancient, rusty nails
To be fearless enough to poke the tiny snake with a stick, while it slithers away into the bushes, and to offer the stray cat some food from the palm of my hand and not worry about disease.
To think that imagination is the greatest thing ever invented. It can be used to fight off the enemy aliens, or to dream of far away lands in which pigs fly, animals talk, and where the sun always shines.
To wear a homemade paper hat and sit in a cardboard box, and be fighting a sea battle with pirates, and to win and become the master of the seven seas.
To sit in the shade of a huge oak tree, and look to the passing clouds and make them into shapes – a fire engine, a tree, a cat, a wagon, a unicorn, a pirate ship – on a warm, breezy summer day.
To be hunting for tigers in the wild African jungles, even if you are really just looking for your lost cat in the park.
To go out and play in the rain, loving the feeling of the water running down from your head to your toe, and then to jump and splash in the puddles after the rain fades into a beautiful sunny day.
To pick a bunch of dandelions, so pretty in a field of green, to give to mother for her birthday, but stopping before you go to pick the flower with all the fuzzy white balls on it, and twirl around and scatter them into the wind, never to be seen again.
To feel that tinge of excitement when that darn tooth finally falls out, leaving behind a small reminder that, maybe an apple a day only pulls out your poor teeth, and then just barely missing, because you fell asleep, the tooth fairy’s arrival, bringing you something that makes the pain worth it.
To go down to the lake and sit at the end of the dock, fishing with only a wooden stick with a string tied to it and maybe perhaps some old bread for bait, dangling your bare feet into the chilly water, but loving the feel of the water sloshing between your toes.
To try to stay up all night long, clutching the flashlight as if perhaps if you let it go, you’ll surely fall into a giant abyss, waiting for any moment, the monster to jump out of the closet and carry you to closetland.
To rub your cheeks gently, which are still red and burning, after Aunt Gertrude and Uncle Leonard ambushed you at the family barbecue on the patio, exclaiming how long it’s been since they’ve seen you, and oh how you’ve grown, growing like a weed!
To feel the wind blowing through your hair as you take that first wild ride on your very own bicycle, going faster and faster until you realize that you don’t know how to stop, and topple over into the bushes, crying from the scrape on your knee, yet laughing at the excitement.
To pack up your necessities—teddy-bear, favorite shirt, which has been worn a million and one times, some clean underwear, as mother always said, the picture of your parents from their bedside table, and a peanut butter and jelly sandwich—and run away from home, because your mom told you to clean your room, but you’re forced to go back when you get to the end of the block, not only because you already miss everyone terribly, but because you just remembered-you’re not allowed to cross the street.
To wake up on Christmas morning, see the sun streaming in through the window, and running down the stairs to the living room, and before you even see the star of the brilliantly lit and decorated tree, stopping to take a moment on the last stair to say a quiet, but heartfelt, thank you to the big man in red for all that you are about to discover under the tower of evergreen, blinking lights, and ornaments from the year 1982, then tearing through the brilliantly colored paper-wrapped gifts, whether they’re yours or not, until you find the one you’re looking for, the one that you’ve wanted since July.
To wonder if the fruit in the basket on the table is real, or wax. After all, you wouldn’t want to make that mistake again.
To believe that anything is possible and that a stranger is just a friend waiting to be made.
To trust everyone, and doubt nothing.
What I wouldn’t give to be an innocent again.