Grandpa eyed the bag of trail mix on the kitchen counter. It was in a plastic bag inside of a brown paper sack, and the variegated grainy mixture was visible through the top of the open package. The granddaughter had just scooped up a handful and taken it to her room. Tasty images rushed into grandpa’s head–morsels of nuts, raisins, dried fruits, seeds and crunchy other nuggets were among them. Helping himself to a healthy fistful, he popped the mix into his mouth. His taste buds gave him an immediate recognition of something gone terribly wrong, validated by a quick check of the label on the bag’s contents—gerbil mix. Arggh, what a surprise, what a disappointment, what a violation. It’s not that the mix was somehow contaminated by the likes of bottom-of-the-cage droppings, but just the idea of the thing: rodent food does not conjure up the notion of delicacies under nearly any circumstances.
Everyone needs a scapegoat… The new concrete porch stoop preparations were well underway. First, a sketch of the area to be cemented, next excavation, then re-bar and setting up the forms. The grandkids were in on the whole endeavor, and the plan was to leave their handprints at the corner of the finished stoop. As shoveling the sack mix began, great anticipation ensued. “Is it time yet?” was heard over and over. Finally, as the water on the finish coat dried to a thin film, the moment came. Four little handprints were pressed into the concrete. Perfect! All seemed fine, but the children wanted to leave other inscriptions in the still uncured pour. “Absolutely, not,” was the stern reply. Next morning, however, a hastily scrawled peace sign was discovered etched permanently in the now solid cement. “OK, who did it?” Two guilty children shrank back behind their mother—“It must have been Jerry the neighbor,” was the reply they offered, but grandma and grandpa would have none of that.
More on child’s play… Under the steps lives a fearsome monster, which lies in wait for hapless children to come up or down the stairs. The open back staircase risers provide an easy access to unsuspecting stair climbers, and suddenly, as unexpected as a crouching cougar, the step monster attacks his prey with vigorous but contrived ferocity. Squeals of mock fear and pretend surprise are one part of the game; the second is the monster’s delight; and the third is the somewhat feigned irritation of those watching TV next to the fateful stairway. After being properly admonished, the monster retreats to his cave in the lower level, the children return to their pre-attack activities, and the TV crowd resume their detached oblivion.
The simplicity with which children seem to view life is refreshing. Complications which adults apply to life are often just that—complications. At times, they seem to get in the way of the essentials, with all of the qualifications and conditions which we so often apply. Sometimes simple answers and simple solutions can be the best, and sometimes a more sophisticated approach is indicated. Below is an eight year olds view of man’s relationship with God.
-Michael Cundiff
