In a good way though.
For real, I admire them immensely. In fact I want to be them.
I want to be 3 years old and here’s why:
My daughter Julia answering the phone circa 1994, during a somewhat intense obsession with the animated movie Aladdin.
“Hello Julia, this is your grandmother, is your mama home?”
“This isn’t Julia, it’s Princess Jasmine”
Just like that! She just didn’t feel like being Julia, and she wasn’t going to pretend otherwise. Just hangs up on her grandmother, not in the mood to be anyone other than a Disney princess, and anyone who wasn’t going to respect that could pretty much suck it.
My mother called back three more times, the first two times she was hung up on again, the third time she had the sense to ask “Hello Princess Jasmine? Is Jennifer home and may I please speak to her?”.
I want to be 4 years old and here’s why:
My daughter Cloee circa 2000, finishing up a batch of colouring on looseleaf lined paper.
Cloee: Mom! I’m going outside to sell these. Is $5.00 a good price?
Me: Sounds good to me
My Dad: Cloee, you can’t sell scribbles for $5.00
Cloee: Richard, they’re not scribbles, they’re Jackson Pollocks.
She walked through the front door and out to the curb in front of the apartment and was probably outside for all of 15 minutes before walking back in with a handful of cash.
I want to be 5 years old and here’s why:
My daughter Annika circa 2000 after watching her little sister make $25 in fifteen minutes, off of Forged art.
Annika: MOM! I’m going outside to sell this rock. Is $5.00 a good price?
Me: For a rock? You mean like a pet rock? Are you going to paint eyes or something on it?
Annika: Why? Rocks don’t have eyes.
Me: Maybe $3.oo is more realistic then
My Dad: Annika, there are free rocks all over the ground, why would anybody buy a rock from you for $3.00?
Annika: Because I’m cute
And you know that not only did she sell that rock to the first person who walked by, but they gave her $5.00 for it too.
I want to be 6 years old and here’s why:
Ever see kids in a school yard, just running and shrieking at the top of their lungs for no apparent or obvious reason, and wonder what the hell is wrong with them?
Me too, until one beautiful sunshiny day…
I was sitting on my back porch not minding my own business, having my morning vodka coffee and listening to the neighbour’s kid playing with her friend, when one of them said…
“ Let’s run and scream!” and the other, without any hesitation, yelled “YEAH!”
and then they both just started running and screaming, at the top of their lungs. They just ran and ran and ran and screamed and screamed and screamed. Not any actual coherent words, just screaming, until they fell into a giggling exhausted pile of joy.
Can you imagine doing that right this second? Can you imagine how amazing, albeit excruciatingly annoying to those around you, that would feel?
I want that. All of it. I need that in my life.
I want to get to know and respect my inner princess, and force other people to respect her too, or at least hang up on them when they don’t acknowledge her existence. I want to recognize the value of my art, be ambitious enough to exploit it and to know when to stop what-iffing, over-analyzing and banging my head against the wall, drop everything and just run and scream and run and scream and run and scream until I fall into an exhausted pile of joy.