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| Words for My Grandchildren |
We tried so hard to make things better for our kids that
we made them worse. For my grandchildren, I'd like better.
I'd really like for them to know about hand-me down clothes
and homemade ice cream and leftover meatloaf sandwiches. I
really would.
My cherished grandson, I hope you learn humility by being
humiliated, and that you learn honesty by being cheated. I
hope you learn to make your bed and mow the lawn and wash
the car. And I really hope nobody gives you a brand new car
when you are sixteen. I hope you have a job by then.
It will be good if at least one time you can see a baby
calf born and your old dog put to sleep. I hope you get a
black eye fighting for something you believe in.
I hope you have to share a bedroom with your younger brother.
And it's all right if you have to draw a line down the middle
of the room, but when he wants to crawl under the covers with
you because he's scared, I hope you let him. When you want to
see a Disney movie and your little brother wants to tag along,
I hope you'll let him.
I hope you have to walk uphill to school with your friends
and that you live in a town where you can do it safely. On
rainy days when you have to catch a ride I hope your driver
doesn't have to drop you two blocks away so you won't be seen
riding with someone as uncool as your mom.
If you want a slingshot, I hope your dad teaches you how to
make one instead of buying one. I hope you learn to dig in
the dirt and read books. When you learn to use those new
fangled computers, I hope you also learn to add and subtract
in your head.
I hope you get razzed by your friends when you have your first
crush on a girl, and when you talk back to your mother that
you learn what Ivory soap tastes like. May you skin your knee
climbing a mountain, burn you hand on stove and stick your
tongue on a frozen flagpole.
I hope you get sick when someone blows cigar smoke in your
face. I don't care if you try beer once, but I hope you don't l
ike it. And if a "friend" offers you dope or a joint, I hope
you realize he is not your friend.
I sure hope you make time to sit on a porch with your grandpa
and go fishing with your uncle. May you feel sorrow at a funeral
and the joy of holidays. I hope your mother punishes you when
you throw a baseball through a neighbor's window and that she
hugs you and kisses you at Christmas time when you give her a
plaster of Paris mold of your hand.
These things I wish for you - tough times and disappointment,
hard work and happiness.
Written with a pen. Sealed with a kiss.
-- Paul Harvey |
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