pictographix” spwilcen
Before you get your shorts in a wad
I’m not referring to what we called in them ‘good old days’ ‘dwarfs’ or ‘midgets.’ [You remember them good old days of political incorrectness.] Here I mean, children. Little adult people. [Though today, ‘adult,’ sadly does not have the meaning it had in days past.]
Not babies – especially not newborns
I’m on record that I consider all babies, newborns especially, bare-butt-ugly. Only mothers believe their babies beautiful, which is to be expected. Having spent many months lugging around a kicking, bladder-squeezing suitcase strapped to their lower torso, they cannot believe all that work resulted in that! Plus, new mothers are under the influence of potent psychotropic drugs; they should not be allowed to operate heavy machinery or render opinions on beauty or whether hubby folded the laundry correctly. Most mothers will persist in this illusory opinion when sober, it then becoming a matter of saving face – not admitting they made a mistake while hallucinating – and to commiserate with other new mothers, thus perpetuating a huge fallacy.
What I mean by ‘children,’ is those who have grown beyond being wrinkled, odd-shaped, stinky, loud, irregular creatures. When they can walk unassisted and can communicate better than most adults.
Scale models – caricatures, if you will
Okay, not to perfect scale. The parts are all there, largely operational – legs, arms, mouths, and brains. [Brains, which sadly, for many people, begin to atrophy after the age of twenty-one.]
Nurture
Why do little people fascinate me so? They have a perfect innocence. They are not naturally greedy [momma calls that being ‘selfish’], egocentric, jealous, or close-minded. They are curious, caring, energetic, and honest [unless forced into regrettable behavior by a usually older siblings]. Those are impressive lists and could be greatly expanded but already many WPers are nodding-off.
They are fun to watch. [Not WPers. Little People.] If one is careful, you can see unadulterated [what a lovely pun!] motives and logic for what little people do and say. A bit of careful study allows one to extrapolate to understand some of what makes grown-up little people ‘tick.’
This, of course, before their parents go to work training little people how to adult. Teaching them lying, hatred, intolerance, and how to connive, steal, and double-dip. This is one of a few responsibilities parents gleefully accept and adroitly accomplish.
As this education happens, little people, in little steps surrender skills and philosophies they will never again enjoy. Of course, you want an example. Okay, fine. Let’s use ‘little steps,’ since your mind is already dealing with that concept.
Watch a little person walk before reaching the age where they are sent off to ballet class or the football field. Not the tottering few steps as this being bursts from “baby-ness” to “little people-ness,” but the very instant they no longer consider walking stupid, considering crawling or having someone carry you from place to place makes so much more sense.
Do they walk with trepidation, out of fear that forgetting left-in-front, right-in-front is requisite? Nah. They tear-off lickety-split, damn the consequences, throwing their bodies forward regardless of the correct positioning of left-or-right beneath their weight. Little people throw themselves into walking, much as they throw themselves into life.
After seventy years of training in adulting, how do old little people walk? In mincing little half-steps. Looking to see the left-or-right leg is properly below their hips before shifting weight forward. [Working, at times to remember their right leg moved last, so the left leg is next. Right? Left is right, right?] Takes two or three times as long to get anywhere, and old people certainly demonstrate that walking is no fun.
Let the first ‘ding’ of the ‘ding-a-ling’ of an ice cream wagon kiss the air, little people are running to the sound before ‘-a-ling’ settles on the street. Old people, even craving a double-crusted ice cream sandwich, won’t make it to where the cart is before the white-clad ice cream guy files for his own social security.
Natural evil?
Sure, I’ve seen it. So have you. The child [never a ‘little person,’ born fully adult captive in a little people’s body] innately cruel, selfish, and greedily consumptive [adults call this ‘entitlement’]. Snotty little shits. Terrors. Natural evil. Free-range Karens. Born that way? Yes. Rare. [Caused, probably when during gestation, mother gorged on Dove Bars and premium pickles.]
Challenges a nature/nurture conclusion, doesn’t it?
But I still like little people. I prefer their company. When they’ll have me. Even in their innocence and despite already-completed adult-ness lessons, they recognize, I think, that I am an adult, and therefore sadly flawed. But fortunately, they also recognize there are many adult lessons for which I’ve not passed the exams.
Ramblings 