
Boys come in assorted sizes, weights, and colors. They are found everywhere - on top of, underneath, inside of, climbing on, swinging from, running around, or jumping into. Mothers love them; little girls hate them; older brothers and sisters tolerate them; adults ignore them; and heaven protects them. A boy is Truth with dirt on its face, Wisdom with bubble gum in its hair, and the Hope of the Future with a frog in its pocket.
A boy has the appetite of a horse, the digestion of a sword swallower, the energy of a pocket-size atomic bomb, the curiosity of a cat, the lungs of a dictator, the imagination of Paul Bunyan, the shyness of a Violet, the audacity of a steel trap, and the enthusiasm of a firecracker. When he makes something, he has five thumbs on each hand.
He likes ice cream, knives, saws, Christmas, comic books, the boy across the street, the woods, water (in its natural habitat), large animals, Dad, trains, Saturday morning, and fire engines. He is not much for Sunday School, company, school, books without any pictures, music lessons, neck ties, barbers, girls, overcoats, adults, or bedtime.
Nobody else is so early to rise or so late to supper. Nobody else can cram into one pocket a rusty knife, a half-eaten apple, three feet of string, two gumdrops, six pennies, a slingshot, a chunk of unknown substance, and a decoder ring with a secret compartment.
A boy is a magical creature - you can lock him out of your workshop, but you can't lock him out of your heart. You can lock him out of your study, but you can't get him out of your mind. Might as well give up - he is your captor, your jailer, your boss, and your master - a freckle faced pint-sized bundle of noise. But when you come home at night with only the shattered pieces of your hopes and dreams, he can mend them with two magic words: "Hi, Dad!"
Alan Beck, New England Life Insurance