kids

A father and his young son came fishing at the house the other day. And there's nothing to widen your eyes to the wonders of our world like watching a child.

Our duck house was radically transformed. Who knew that big, plunky, plastic chair would fit in there? But fit it did, providing a perfect, little house with windows for such a small body.

And his excitement over catching a fish was something. When Bobby got home from work, he went down there to visit, and came back smiling. "Let me show you how to catch a fish," he he told Bobby. And when he did catch one, he turned back and grinned this huge smile.

Where is it along life's way do we lose such wonder? When did I become leery of bugs, so that I cringe at the thought of crawling into a small space like a duck house? And what is it about childhood (and puppies) that make them want to chase things? We haven't had a child yet that didn't chase the ducks or geese (nor a dog, for that matter!). There's nothing malicious in the act; the children are always laughing and having a good time. Where along the path to adulthood did we lose the thrill of the chase and become concerned with the poor ducks?

I think the father and the son had a great time. And I think I regained a small sense of that wonder you lose when you live in an all adult world.