When I was eleven, I had virus pneumonia and whisperings around me let me know people wondered if I might die. I coughed a lot, grew emaciated and hollow-eyed. When my parents took me to a doctor, he started me on penicillin injections weekly for a while. I was told not to carry my baby brothers under any circumstances, just rest. Any eleven-year-old is going to get tired of that kind of life, especially since my treatment was to be for three whole months. For the first time in my life, I knew boredom. It was probably the only time I could not look around and figure out something to do.
Five girls in a bed and the little one said, “Roll over! Roll Over!”
Then the daddy left for work, and the mother said, “Move over! Fill Dad’s spot!”
So they all rolled over and slept a while longer, then mother snapped a selfie and…
Self-analysis dictates that sleeping six (or seven) in a bed, no matter the bed size, is damaging to the health and alternative arrangements should be made, whether or not the kids have bad dreams, sugar ants on their pillowcases or pets munching scattered toys and food to keep children from sleeping all night.
After all, why did they buy beds for each kid?
Is my granddaughter looking down a rabbit hole? I fear not. Maybe it is an opening to a fox’s den. I’m no expert. There was actually another, almost identical hole on the other side of this giant tree in a seemingly forsaken graveyard overgrown in weeds and thistles, but my granddaughter did not care which end of the hole it was—the entrance or the exit. Look! She is so close she’s almost in it! Isn’t the curiosity of children amazing? Another outstanding characteristic of kids seems to be their lack of fear.
ADVICE TO TRAVELERS
by Walker L. Gibson
A burro once, sent by express,
His shipping ticket on his bridle,
Ate up his name and his address,
And in some warehouse, standing idle,
He waited ’till he like to died.
The moral hardly needs the showing:
Don’t keep things locked up deep inside;
Say who you are and where you’re going.