Rise of the Guardians and Life lessons

In the world where I grew up, work was work and play was play and never the twain would meet. People grew up and got jobs they had to do to pay the bills. Then they had jobs they had to do to make sure the household kept running roughly in a forward and productive direction while remaining on the livable side of tidy and clean. If people had time left over, they played. If they played, they played pretty damn hard, because when was the next chance going to come along? Maybe never.

I confess, I pretty much hated the world I grew up in. My observation was that all work and little play made adults pretty miserable. I wanted none of it. I simply resolved never to bother with the whole growing up thing. I liked my crayons and paper and my books. I went to school and took art, so I could keep my crayons. Now I write my own books. Growing up is for schmucks.


Last week, I took my twelve-year-old daughter to see Rise of the Guardians. We laughed and cried and thought Jack was a little anime cutie, and we wanted to see it again. I've been trying for months to figure out if she still believes in Santa. I realized that day that it doesn't matter, because I still think Santa exists. I know dreams are worth dreaming and nothing exists until you believe in it
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And that's what I want my kids to learn. Because I look around at the people who learned lessons from the world we grew up in and I see them wilting and turning grey. There is no wonder left. If they can't afford bigger and better toys, they're miserable, bored and lonely. They don't remember how to play.

I'm  not so naive I don't understand there are things you have to do in life that you would rather not do. Someone has to change the diapers, clean the kitty litter and scrub the toilets. No one really wants to do that shit, because no one, at least, no one I've met, really thinks feces is fun. I'm sure these people exist, but I'm going to bet they're pretty rare.  But neither are there many people who dream of working at day jobs they hate, I think.

So I'm going to teach my kids to dream. To keep the wonder and always remember how to play. In fact, I'll encourage them to find out how they can make their play pay the bills. Because working five times as hard as anyone else at the thing that makes your heart sings means you'll make some breath-stopping, head-turning, jaw-droppingly beautiful heart music. And the world needs that like we need the sun.

Sorry for the lack of snark today, but after two weeks of one thing after another, I decided I could bitch and complain, or I could remember how lucky I am that I get to make my heart music and so I chose to sing.

And now, Bobby Wills can sing  bit, because he's way better at it than I am, actually. (sorry, fellow strong women, just plug your ears. Country music ahead!)