the little prince
I'm posting this because at the OLD AGE of 24 I am reminded by my little sister that it's important to stay young at heart. Why does 24 seem like a milestone? Isn't it supposed to be 25? Life keeps moving forward but at this point I have to say I am incredibly grateful for the friends and family I have been so blessed with. Charleston these days is great- I love my friends and my job is going well and my living situation couldn't be more perfect. Jere and I have officially evolved to more-than-best-friends. I'm holding on to this one. He's my boo... since September, since last year, since five years ago, since we were 16 at the mall. We're about to live it up in Charleston all summer.. karaoke with DJ Blaze, reggae bingo at the Daily Dose, sailing on the river, drinking SWEET tea, eating sweet potato pie. Listening to Toad the Wet Sprocket, throwing wine and cheese parties, sampling pecans on the market, drinking PALMETTO beer. Living in Charleston is more fun than I deserve and now he's moving in to share it with me for the summer. xo
But here:
Once
when I was six years old I saw a magnificent picture in a book,
called True Stories from Nature, about the primeval forest. It
was a picture of a boa constrictor in the act of swallowing an
animal. Here is a copy of the drawing.
In
the book it said: "Boa constrictors swallow their prey whole,
without chewing it. After that they are not able to move, and
they sleep through the six months that they need for digestion."
I pondered deeply, then, over the adventures of the jungle. And
after some work with a colored pencil I succeeded in making my
first drawing. My Drawing Number One. It looked like this:
I
showed my masterpiece to the grown-ups, and asked them whether
the drawing frightened them. But they answered: "Frighten? Why
should any one be frightened by a hat?" My drawing was not a picture
of a hat. It was a picture of a boa constrictor digesting an elephant.
But since the grown-ups were not able to understand it, I made
another drawing: I drew the inside of the boa constrictor, so
that the grown-ups could see it clearly. They always need to have
things explained. My Drawing Number Two looked like this:
The
grown-ups' response, this time, was to advise me to lay aside
my drawings of boa constrictors, whether from the inside or the
outside, and devote myself instead to geography, history, arithmetic
and grammar. That is why, at the age of six, I gave up what might
have been a magnificent career as a painter. I had been disheartened
by the failure of my Drawing Number One and my Drawing Number
Two. Grown-ups never understand anything by themselves, and it
is tiresome for children to be always and forever explaining things
to them.
So
then I chose another profession, and learned to pilot airplanes.
I have flown a little over all parts of the world; and it is true
that geography has been very useful to me. At a glance I can distinguish
China from Arizona. If one gets lost in the night, such knowledge
is valuable. In the course of this life I have had a great many
encounters with a great many people who have been concerned with
matters of consequence. I have lived a great deal among grown-ups.
I have seen them intimately, close at hand. And that hasn't much
improved my opinion of them.
Whenever
I met one of them who seemed to me at all clear-sighted, I tried
the experiment of showing him my Drawing Number One, which I have
always kept. I would try to find out, so, if this was a person
of true understanding. But, whoever it was, he, or she, would
always say: "That is a hat." Then I would never talk to that person
about boa constrictors, or primeval forests, or stars. I would
bring myself down to his level. I would talk to him about bridge,
and golf, and politics, and neckties. And the grown-up would be
greatly pleased to have met such a sensible man.
But here:
Once
when I was six years old I saw a magnificent picture in a book,
called True Stories from Nature, about the primeval forest. It
was a picture of a boa constrictor in the act of swallowing an
animal. Here is a copy of the drawing.
In
the book it said: "Boa constrictors swallow their prey whole,
without chewing it. After that they are not able to move, and
they sleep through the six months that they need for digestion."
I pondered deeply, then, over the adventures of the jungle. And
after some work with a colored pencil I succeeded in making my
first drawing. My Drawing Number One. It looked like this:
I
showed my masterpiece to the grown-ups, and asked them whether
the drawing frightened them. But they answered: "Frighten? Why
should any one be frightened by a hat?" My drawing was not a picture
of a hat. It was a picture of a boa constrictor digesting an elephant.
But since the grown-ups were not able to understand it, I made
another drawing: I drew the inside of the boa constrictor, so
that the grown-ups could see it clearly. They always need to have
things explained. My Drawing Number Two looked like this:
The
grown-ups' response, this time, was to advise me to lay aside
my drawings of boa constrictors, whether from the inside or the
outside, and devote myself instead to geography, history, arithmetic
and grammar. That is why, at the age of six, I gave up what might
have been a magnificent career as a painter. I had been disheartened
by the failure of my Drawing Number One and my Drawing Number
Two. Grown-ups never understand anything by themselves, and it
is tiresome for children to be always and forever explaining things
to them.
So
then I chose another profession, and learned to pilot airplanes.
I have flown a little over all parts of the world; and it is true
that geography has been very useful to me. At a glance I can distinguish
China from Arizona. If one gets lost in the night, such knowledge
is valuable. In the course of this life I have had a great many
encounters with a great many people who have been concerned with
matters of consequence. I have lived a great deal among grown-ups.
I have seen them intimately, close at hand. And that hasn't much
improved my opinion of them.
Whenever
I met one of them who seemed to me at all clear-sighted, I tried
the experiment of showing him my Drawing Number One, which I have
always kept. I would try to find out, so, if this was a person
of true understanding. But, whoever it was, he, or she, would
always say: "That is a hat." Then I would never talk to that person
about boa constrictors, or primeval forests, or stars. I would
bring myself down to his level. I would talk to him about bridge,
and golf, and politics, and neckties. And the grown-up would be
greatly pleased to have met such a sensible man.