Between the innocence of babyhood and the dignity of manhood... We find a delightful creature called a BOY.
Boys come in assorted sized, weights, and colors,
But all boys have the same cravings...
To enjoy every second of every minute of every hour of every day,
And to protest with noise (their only weapon) when their last minute is finished
And you as parents tuck them into bed at night.
Boys are found everywhere: on top of, underneath, inside of,
Climbing on, swinging from, running around or jumping through.
Mothers and fathers love them, little girls hate them,
Older sisters and brothers tolerate them, adults ignore them,
And Heaven protects them.
A boy is proof with dirt on his face, beauty with a cut on his finger,
Wisdom with bubble gum in his mouth, and the hope of the future with a frog in this pocket.
When you are busy, a boy is an inconsiderate, bothersome, intruding jangle of noise.
When you want him to make a good impression his brain turns to jelly,
Or else he becomes a savage, sadistic, jungle creature
Bent on destroying the world and himself with it.
A boy is a composite. He 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 a Paul Bunyan,
The shyness of a violet, the audacity of a steel trap, the enthusiasm of a firecracker,
And when he makes something, he has five thumbs on each hand.
He likes ice cream, knives, tools, Christmas, video games,
The boy across the street, wood, water (in its natural habitat), large animals,
Dad, Mom, weekends, and fire engines.
He's not much for church, company, school, books without pictures,
Music lessons, neckties, homework, girls, coats, adults, or bedtime.
Nobody else is so early to rise, or so late to supper.
Nobody else get so much fun out of trees, dogs, and breezes.
Nobody else can cram into one pocket---
A rusty knife, a half eaten apple, three feet of string, Pokemon cards, gum,
Six cents, a slingshot, a chunk of unknown substance, and a genuine super-sonic code
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 get 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 freckled face, pint-sized, cat chasing bundle of noise.
But when you come home at night with only
The shattered pieces of your hopes and dreams,
He can mend them like new with these magic words:
HI DAD or HI MOM!
I LOVE YOU!
This is a modified version (to fit today's times) of a poem read by Jackie Gleason and transcribed from a recording of an old 79. It is a pretty accurate assessment of the fever of boyhood.
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