Hearts and Bones
4 Oct 2009 / PE“Why won’t you love me
For who I am
Where I am?”
He said:
“‘Cause that’s not the way the world is, baby.”
“Why won’t you love me
For who I am
Where I am?”
He said:
“‘Cause that’s not the way the world is, baby.”
Kodachrome
You give us those nice bright colors
You give us the greens of summers
Makes you think all the world’s a sunny day, oh yeah!
I got a Nikon camera
I love to take a photograph
So Mama, don’t take my Kodachrome away
Kodak takes your Kodachrome away
And I know a father who had a son
He longed to tell him all the reasons for the things he’d done
This story needs a quick setup . . .
My son’s two-year-old birthday party was a festive event. The whole neighborhood was there!
We had a bounce house, a clown . . . the only thing that marred the day slightly was that as everyone sang “Happy Birthday,” his mom lifted him up so he could see the cake, and he stuck his finger out and touched a lit candle.
It wasn’t a bad burn but he did cry for a while.
We have a video of this. That’s why he remembers it.
So — we’re having a late lunch today at Souplantation. A kid who looks about four years old runs down the aisle, turns the corner and runs back up the next aisle over.
I ask, “Why is it a good idea as a parent to let your kid run through restaurants?”
My son, totally off topic, says, “Why is it a good idea to let your kid stick his finger in a candle?”
I say, “I don’t know. You didn’t do it again though, did you?”
His mom says, “Maybe you shouldn’t have a birthday party at all if you want to complain about it.”
“A two-year-old shouldn’t have a birthday party?!” he asks in disbelief.
I say, “Mom makes a good point, if you’re just going to stick your finger in a candle and ruin it for everybody.”
Oh, and it’s all right, it’s all right, it’s all right
You can’t be forever blessed
Still, tomorrow’s going to be another working day
And I’m trying to get some rest
That’s all I’m trying
To get some rest
What is the point of this story?
What information pertains?
The thought that life could be better
Is woven indelibly
Into our hearts
And our brains.
And I know a father who had a son
He longed to tell him all the reasons for the things he’d done
He came a long way just to explain
He kissed his boy as he lay sleeping
Then he turned around and he headed home again
Before I got married I had six theories about bringing up children; now I have six children and no theories.
You might get the idea from reading this book that being rich is synonymous with being happy. I’ve never seen any indication that that’s true.