I used to know a little boy.
I used to be him.
Lately, I’ve been looking at my life
And wondering what he would think of it.
We still talk from time to time,
But with every conversation we seem to know each other less.
Nothing I say makes sense to him.
Everything he says is in the future tense:
Places he will go, people he will meet,
Amazing things he will do.
He cannot understand my past-tense explanation
That I never got around to doing those things.
I cannot bear the look of reproach he gives me.
He doesn’t understand.
He wants impossible things!
I wanted impossible, childish things. I still do...
"…but when I became a man, I put away childish things."
Maybe I shouldn’t have put all of them away.
Maybe I didn’t.
Now and then, I come across one where I least expect to find it:
When I read a ghost story or a book about pirates,
When I sip a mug of hot cocoa,
When I ride my bicycle—
When I float down a river,
Set a trotline, make shelter for the night,
Cook supper over a fire—
Every time I make a new friend,
Every time I go someplace I’ve never been before,
Every time I learn something new
And take a moment to marvel at it—
Every time my imagination transforms a woodlot into a wilderness
Or an inconvenience into an adventure,
I smile a childish smile
As my hopeful past touches a present that seems impossible
And reaches for a future that no longer does.
I am a little boy,
But I have done some amazing things
And I will do more before I am through.