By Steve Brian, October 24, 2019
By Steve Brian, October 24, 2019
We look to the children and we see them for what they act like.
Animals.
Those kiddos, they got some spirit. Vim and vigor. Pizzazz aplenty.
Little bundles of nitroglycerin to handle with care. Or risk explosion.
Probably not—the statistics for children actually spontaneously combusting are relatively minimal. Then again, without a well-established routine of recesses, playdates and birthday parties, maybe those rates would skyrocket.
Little ones popping off left and right like fireworks on the Fourth of July. Think of the mess. You know what, better not.
Let us instead be thankful for and pray to the gods of structured, supervised, physical activities for the wee ones. Without whom we might never feel peace of mind when we buckle them up in their car seats, knowing it’s a fraught scenario strapping those snack-fingered, Sesame Street t-shirted, tiny light-up-shoed time-bombs in just behind us.
Let us also extend gratitude, as often as possible, to the zookeepers. Not real zookeepers, but the minders of these little animals—teachers, recess monitors, playdate parents, after-school camp counselors, lifeguards, coaches, et cetera. (But hey, thank real zookeepers too—it’s not like the animals can.)
Find a park, a playground, a field even and let them little ones run. Run ’em out. Let ’em play, scream, bounce, roll, dive, dip, chase. Give an outlet to all that’s in them. Let them go wild and be jealous of their little animal adventures.
For fun and ecstatic revelry, try The Monkey King Playhouse and welcome to the jungle.