The problem with children…
…is that they grow to be adults.
Originally, the keyboard wrote “grow up to be adults.”
Which implies “up” is an improvement or maturation. Neither of which is correct. I submit maturation into adulthood or abandonment of childish wisdom is a tragic loss. Children are not to be faulted. What examples do they have? I mean, what models have they to pattern their attitudes, life philosophies, and conduct after? [Just looked around.] I see none except children and adults, so as we train children that “adult” is something to aspire to,1 we [“adults”] are sadly the only role models available. Oh, yeah; there are many childish “adults,” which suggests to be “childlike” is a bad thing, but this expression is totally wrong. A childish adult is not childish but a broken adult, saturated with ego, self-purpose, greed, and a horrendously warped morality. [Not attitudes and methods children have yet mastered.]
Yes, I hear you, Larry, there are rare childish adults who are treasures and manage when necessary to act as we other adults feel is proper. That, Larry, is the exception case-hardening the rule.
A completely out-of-nowhere observation: [It’s free, so don’t bellyache.] Seeing a fair amount of [ahem] poor writing,2 I’ve resolved that even with little expendable time to re-read some of the masters.3 Picked-up one I’d not read in years. [Excuse me, Mrs. By…..n, but so long ago that I’d forgotten this writer’s style and method. He stinks. For certain, he’s a master.4 But this selection especially is depressing, unseemly cruel, and tedious.
Point? Point is, even the “masters” have off-days, disappointing periods, truly bad days, weeks, and years. There is hope.
1 Aspire? Well, we make it seem to children they are missing something, deprived of candy only “adults” are allowed to sneak from the big jar on the kitchen counter.
2 Poor writing offered-up by [previously] unfamiliar bloggers, stumbled upon as I flit like a bumble bee searching out pollen, from [respected] flowering known-blogger to known blogger.
3 Contrary to gut feel that to do so will, as some plagiaristic perversion, first change my natural way of writing, and second, imbed plots and devices into my efforts. While I admire, Hemingway, Faulkner, Homer, Shaw, Kaminsky, Evanovich [and on and on] and Maugham, Conrad, and Kerouac [again, on and on], I don’t want you to believe these are the only authors in my list of those I respect. “Admire” is a rare horse, a unicorn. I do not intentionally slight the “old” and “ancient” masters; time constraints, you know?
4 Not my place to identify the author, which might discourage someone unfamiliar with his works from taking a gander. “Hard times in America” fiction loaded with disguised social and moral condemnation. “Early modern” American author writing mid-Great Depression of that same period with needlessly confusing flashbacks and multiple plotlines momentarily disconnected in such a way one is tempted to search for chapters one can stitch together for continuity. Not, for any ultimate interest in a single plotline or character, but because the interruption makes momentarily shunted plotlines blur, their messages diluted.