Always Think Like a Kid
Why do we love and admire children so much? Why do they make us laugh even when they are doing everyday activities? I know why. Kids lead honest lives and adults lie. We do. Let me explain.
Kids do not deny themselves simple everyday pleasures. Adults do. Kids do not stifle their feelings. Adults do. When a child is tired, she acts up or passes out mid-sentence in her stroller. She is going to sleep come hell or high water. If a kid wants to do something fun, she will try to plow through an adult in order to try to get her way. Imagination is the cornerstone of a child’s world. And what do adults do? Adults keep up appearances for other adults. Everything that we loved to do as children, we kvetch and moan about as adults.
All that was fun and made us truly happy, we deny ourselves. Think about all the great pleasures of childhood: making snow angels, building snow forts and sand castles, tasting rain and snow on our tongues, plunking down on the floor wherever and whenever, having daily naps, finger painting and exploring with art, dancing – usually with no rhythm – to any kind of music, getting dirty, singing loudly and out of tune, reading countless books, exploring any and all toys and games, jumping in rain puddles, swimming for hours, watching fireflies and catching bugs and frogs, jumping in leaves and kicking them down the street….the list could go on. So why don’t adults do any of the things that make children so happy, that used to make them so happy? Because they choose to live in reality at all times instead of basking in the magic of imagination.
I made a vow not to become a boring adult, not to think like an adult all the time. I like to think of myself as a very mature 13-year-old – one foot in childhood and one in adulthood. It seems a happy balance and I think of myself as a very happy person. I still jump in puddles. I ALWAYS kick leaves down the street. I make snow AND sand angels. I just sprawled out in the grass recently to stare up at the sky in order to find shapes in the clouds. It just seems like an important thing to do regularly. If you find me in a bookstore, chances are I have plunked down in the middle of the floor. But it’s dirty you say! Trust me, my kitchen floor is probably dirtier. In fact, I know it is.
Why are so many adults terrified of karaoke? I can’t sing for beans but I woo the crowd with my paltry Tina Turner moves. They are laughing so hard they don’t care what noise is coming out of my mouth. FYI – they are laughing with me, not at me. (I like to think of myself as a “karaoke entertainer,” not a singer.) Laughter is fun, no? You didn’t care when you were a kid and you sang badly every single chance you had driving your parents completely and utterly nuts, so why do you care what everyone thinks now? Trust me brave, amazing person, we’ve got your back!
I remember when I was living in Brooklyn, New York one summer. I had gone to the library for the afternoon – as a model with lots of go-sees and time to kill, I got to know the various New York libraries very well. I walked out the doors to the biggest downpour I had seen in years. Torrential. Build-an-ark torrential. It didn’t look like it would let up for hours. I stood at the entrance with about 40 people all of whom were terrified of the rain and apparently would be standing there for the rest of the day waiting it out. What was the worst that would happen to me and what were my options? I would get wet – big deal – or I could hang out with the petrified, trembling crowd all day. So, I started to walk.
I was soaked right through to my underwear in 10 seconds but didn’t really care. To my amusement, people were running as if trying to escape a stampede. Parents were freaking out, yelling. They in turn had children screaming and wailing. Mad dashes with strollers ensued and Brooklyn had become a crazed chaos. It was a scene from a Quentin Tarantino movie.
Panic overtook the streets.
Over water.
Everyone was losing it.
Over water.
Just when I thought every adult in the city had lost his mind I saw something I will never forget. A father had his young son in his arms. It had been scorching hot earlier so the little one was just wearing his diaper and shorts. They were being pelted by rain and the child looked quizzically at his father trying to figure out what kind of reaction he was going to have, lip trembling, awaiting the sign to start wailing like all the other kids. Much to the child’s surprise and amusement, with a huge grin on his face, his father took him and started to dance in the middle of the empty street. Time froze as the two danced and laughed and thoroughly enjoyed the downpour. The child took his cue from his father and I saw his face transform from confused indecision bordering on panic to sheer joy and bliss. I slowed down to watch in the pelting rain and was thrilled to have walked home in order to share in this experience. That child will always love rain storms. That child will know he can establish his own positive energy no matter what others are doing. He will grow up to be a fun, chilled adult because his father knew how to be a kid.
Think about this the next time you are caught in the rain. When we were kids, we couldn’t wait to go play in the sprinklers, go to the community pool, jump into a lake even if the bottom was all gushy. I have revelled in watching the sheer joy on the faces of children playing in the freezing water spraying from fire hydrants in New York, escaping the steaming concrete. We ran to the water with glee as youngsters and now we run from it. Why?
It’s quite simple really. Adults shouldn’t bring children into this world to help them bring back what they have forgotten. That is not their responsibility. We should bring children into this world to share with them what we remember. So go jump in some puddles already, wish upon a star, sing horribly at the top of your lungs or build a lopsided sand castle. Just don’t wait for a child to ask you. You can do it. Go.
