Someone once asked me if I’d like to be a kid again. I said no, mainly because I sure would hate to go through those awkward teen years again. But, I do think it would be nice to see things as children do sometimes.
This morning, for example, my son was very excited because we were finally going to play the Christmas CD that he brought home from chorus. Since it was homework and the boy is so darn cute, I was willing to break my no Christmas songs before Thanksgiving rule.
“Okay, but we are going to listen to ‘You’re a mean one, Mr. Grinch' first,” I said, ever the Scrooge.
“I’m not trying out for ‘Holy Night,’” he said, seriously.
“Why?” I asked, fully expecting him to tell me that he can’t sing. He’s cute, but, unfortunately, he sings like his mama.
To my surprise, he said, “Because I’d be tired by the time I finished singing it. That’s a long song. I’d be out of breath!”
I hugged him and told him to try out anyway. In fact, I even let him practice on the way to school at the top of his lungs. He hit the high notes, much like Alfalfa in The Little Rascals. I declared it beautiful and could tell by the proud look on his face, he agreed.
Oh, to be eight-years-old!