The Showbear Family Circus

kid story

Lancelot Schaubert

What’s your best kid story?

It’s been awhile since I’ve asked an open ended question on here to hear from you all, but what’s your best kid story?

Make sure to scroll down \/ and read all of the comments.

There’s over 100 stories now and the stories have moved me to tears, laughter and wonder.

Points go to:

  1. The one that features moral law the most
  2. The funniest
  3. The one that moves me to tears the most
  4. The wildest

Any kid story you’ve got, just make it your best one. Comment below. And make sure to read everyone else’s and share this post with other parents, uncles, neighbors, and friends.

— Lance

PS. — You might consider checking out A Defense of Baby Worship.

Photo from Senjuti Kundu via an Unsplash license.

READ NEXT:  Sick Graffiti

Lancelot Schaubert

Lancelot Schaubert authored Bell Hammers, which Publisher’s Weekly called “a hoot.” He edits anthologies and journals; produces albums, films, and photo novels; raises funds, friends, and minds for artists. Learn more here.

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  1. Kat Taylor

    When my son was thirteen he started sailing tall ships for those who don’t know the term tall ships are the old pirate ships style with the tall sails lots of booms and riggings,big masses,you get the picture now. Anywhosers a week after he started sailing in the tall ship I had gone to pick him up at the end of the day and there he was up in the crow’s nest about thirty feet up at the top of the mass. Well he grabbed onto the rigging stepped out of the crow’s nest and slid down to the deck no hands holding just his ankle and foot wrapped around the rope. I told him to never let me see that again or I would be a white haired mommy within a week. He never did it infront of me ever again I think the loss of ten years from my heart was enough. Kat

    Reply
    1. Lancelot Schaubert

      Hahaha that’s amazing. That is very much like my relationship with my own mother, only she got a bit more flexible and wild in her elder years. Kind of a meet in the middle thing.

      Any other good ones?

      Reply
  2. Forestwood

    Great idea. I will write a kid story up!

    Reply
    1. Lancelot Schaubert

      Please do! And share it around with folks or reblog it if you can: I plan to send out a larger email blast soon and see how many we can collect

      Reply
      1. Forestwood

        That would be fun

        Reply
        1. Lancelot Schaubert

          For sure!

          Reply
  3. Matt Proctor

    At my church in Joplin, Missouri, I’m a Children’s Church teacher. A few years ago, I was telling the kids the story of King Solomon and the two ladies who came before the king arguing over whose baby it was, and King Solomon said, “Cut the baby in two and give each woman half.”

    Because, you know, that’s a great story to tell young children.

    Right in the middle of the story, Zack—5 years old—raises his hand and says, “Mr. Matt…I would not want the butt half.” 😂

    After I quit laughing, I replied, ‘Well, Zack, I hadn’t actually thought about it before. But now that you mention it, I don’t guess I’d want the butt half either.”

    Reply
    1. Lancelot Schaubert

      Hahahahaha.

      I always thought Solomon was threatening more of a cut down the Y axis rather than the X axis, myself. At least that’s how grandad “Remmy” did it with the $50 bill he found.

      But yes, I don’t think I’d want the rump roast either. That’s horrific and hilarious.

      And totally appropriate for the danse macabre season.

      Reply
    2. James Fox

      Hello , a quick public service note for Tugs-of-war,
      always use natural fibre rope, such as manila. Yes such large ropes are Hawsers and do cost…but….NEVER use synthetic ropes. The synthetic will stretch slightly, but if it snaps, the fibers rebound and will saw into those little fingers gripping the rope. UGG!

      Reply
      1. Lancelot Schaubert

        WOAH. That’s awful. Had no idea. That’s like if the cable snaps on an aircraft carrier.

        Reply
  4. Brandon Kittle

    Years ago when I was in high school, we were watching the elementary children’s Christmas program at church. At the pivotal part in the story, when Jesus is born, one of the wisemen came up and took baby Jesus from Mary. Joseph proceeded to come and take back the baby Jesus from the wiseman. What proceeded was a tug of war between Joseph and the wiseman for the baby Jesus (thankfully a doll).

    I can’t remember who won the tug of war, but I do remember our pastor getting up and saying, “If only we could all be so eager to hold onto Jesus.”

    Obviously I’ve never forgotten that moment.

    Reply
    1. Lancelot Schaubert

      Bahahahah. This connects to Matt’s story:

      Perhaps Solomon, the wise man, showed up and was trying to get the head half of Jesus?

      Reply
  5. Aunt Kim

    There was a little girl whose mother would spell out B-r-a-t when her little girl was not acting the way she wanted her to. Well one day someone asked this little girl if she knew how to spell her name and the little girl responded with a smile “yes, B-r-a-t”

    This story will sound familiar to Tara Lee.

    Reply
    1. Lancelot Schaubert

      Yes indeed. She tells this one often.

      Reply
  6. Autumn Neuenschwander

    When my son Harry (currently 13) was about 3, I decided to crochet him an afghan. We had just lost everything in the Joplin tornado and we were living in a rental, so I wanted to help him feel like his new bedroom was really his own place and to fill it with as many comforts as I could. So of course he decided that he needed to “help” me make it. My perfectionist brain screamed inside of me, but outwardly I consented with a warm smile.
    I tasked him with holding the yarn and carefully unrolling just a little bit at a time as I needed the slack while I was working. I emphasized the importance of his role to fluff his ego and to keep him engaged – otherwise he tended to wander off toward toys or shiny things and subsequently be furious at me for continuing to make his blanket without him.
    So we continued in this pattern – me crocheting far too quickly for him to keep up, patiently waiting for him to notice, and then him speedily pulling out way too much yarn to make up for his occasional toy-related tangents. The constant stop-and-start nature of the project set to boil a pot of anxiety in my stomach.
    But my love for him would win out each time, as I thanked him for his “help” and watched his chubby little digits become entangled in the soon-to-be blanket. I could see the determination in his face as he tried his honest best to be of assistance to me. He looked so proud as he watched his very own blanket materialize in my lap.
    It was then that I realized how often I try to help my Heavenly Father in his work for me – thinking I could make it go faster or control the outcome more closely that way. Getting my adolescent fingers knotted up in HIS yarn. Taking credit for the resulting creations.
    Since then, my kids have taught me many more lessons and helped me make many more painstaking creations. But I treasure the experience now.

    Reply
    1. Lancelot Schaubert

      Wow this is really sweet. I didn’t know this about you, Autumn. I mean I know you guys lost everything, but man… that’s a really precious way to help him say both good “goodbyes” and good “hellos.” And for him to have ownership with it.

      That’s really cool that it kept him engaged that long, too. I’ve noticed how delicate it can be to hold their attention at that age and prior — like an entire quest on the edge of a knife.

      And yeah, that’s so true about us manhandling things that are already good, thinking we can make them better.

      Reply
  7. Gregg

    When I was a kid I loved to climb trees. There was this one tree in the neighbors yard that you could see the Freeway from and I would always see how high I could go. I am also a big nerd and really into super heroes so on this day I had taken a kitchen knife and whittled a piece of wood to look like a Batarang. I climbed this tree and threw my rope and tried to walk across the branches holding only the rope. I fell and 17 stitches and an ambulance ride later I realized that I am not a super hero.

    Reply
    1. Lancelot Schaubert

      Hahaha. I feel like that last line is me over and over again.

      1. I took… and climbed… and threw… and tried…
      2. I fell.
      3. 17 stitches later.
      4. I realized I am not a super hero.
      5. Repeat.
      Reply
  8. Diane Campbell Green

    You’ll probably think I’m older than dirt. I just hit 70 a few weeks ago, yes, I’m a Baby Boomer. I have written stories from my childhood for the past 3 years. There are over 50 of them in a collection I call the Becky Chalmers Series. Here’s one of my favorite:

    Pea Shooters*
    September 1963

    The leaves crinkled under a stampede of small feet. It was the first day of school at Yardley Elementary School. Twins Jimmy and Billy Chalmers were in the second grade this year. Their sister, Becky was starting fourth grade. All of the neighborhood kids chatted about a new teacher, Mrs. Howell.
    “We’re going to have Mrs. Howell for second grade,” Billy said. “I saw her when I peeked in the classroom window yesterday. She’s so pretty, I’m going to bring her some violets this morning. I picked them from Mrs. Pincher’s yard. Mrs. Pincher will never know. I didn’t pick them all.” Billy clutched a rapidly wilting handful of the purple and yellow flowers.
    “I’m bringing my trusty pea shooter, Billy,” his brother confided. “I got a whole lot of those dried peas from the kitchen.”

    *Pea shooters were innocuous homemade toys. A peashooter was comprised of a wide straw and a pocketful of dried peas. The peas were blown through the straw and made a slight ‘ping’ when hitting a target, which usually didn’t happen.

    “I brought an apple for the teacher,” Becky said. “I still hate arithmetic, but I’m going to sit next to my friend, David. He’s really good with numbers.” It was a mystery to Becky how David always had the right answers in arithmetic. “I know he’ll let me see his papers.”
    “That’s cheating, Becky Chalmers,” Sharon, Becky’s sister-friend announced.
    Becky, the boys, Sharon and a half dozen other kids walked the half mile to school.
    Mrs. Howell was as pretty as Billy said, but she had a very disciplined spirit. However, it was the first day of school and Mrs. Howell didn’t know the kids yet. She had been warned about Scotty Cadwallader though.
    “Okay, second graders line up here,” Mrs. Howell called out. The noisy playground became quiet. Mrs. Howell led her students to their new classroom. “You may all pick your desks, but if you don’t behave, I will move you.”
    Jimmy raced for the back row. So did Scotty Cadwallader.
    “That’s my desk!” Scotty told Jimmy who was a little faster and seated at the best desk.
    “I got here first,” Jimmy was going to stand up against Scotty this year. His mommy told him to.
    Scotty drew up his fists like a boxer. Jimmy grew over the summer. Scotty grew even more. He relinquished his desk to Scotty. The only desk left was square in the middle of the classroom.
    Billy brought his flowers to Mrs. Howell after staking out a desk up front. “These are for you,” a bashful Billy said. “I picked them myself.”
    Mrs. Howell graciously accepted the nearly dead violets and put them with water in a small cup.
    “Thank you,” she said. “You must be William Chalmers.” Billy already had a reputation as a Romeo at Yardley Elementary.
    Patty Brown was determined to please Mrs. Howell. She turned around and said, “I’m sitting in front of you James, so you better be nice to me or I’ll tell.” Patty lost a little of her ‘sweetness’ over the summer vacation.
    “Children,” Mrs. Howell began, “I’m going to take roll call. Please tell me your name and something special about yourself. We’ll start with you William Chalmers.”
    “I’m William Chalmers and all the girls like me,” Billy said.
    Finally roll call got to the back of the room. “I’m Scott Cadwallader and my dad taught me to box this summer.”
    That’s not good, Jimmy thought.
    The bell rang for recess and Mrs. Howell lined everyone up quietly. Once out on the playground, her class ran in every direction. Patty Brown cornered Billy. “Do you like me, Billy?” she asked.
    “Well, I don’t know if I do,” Billy said, thinking.
    “No, he likes me,” Sharon appeared from nowhere. “You go find somebody else.”
    Billy stood next to Sharon who was glaring at Patty.
    Back in the classroom, Jimmy made sure to avoid Scotty. Mrs. Howell restored order. “We’re going to have a reading lesson,” she said. “William and Patricia please hand out the reading books. We will read about Dick, Jane and Sally.”
    Patty tried extra-hard to behave properly. She needed to be Mrs. Howell’s favorite. “Scotty, don’t ruin your book,” Patty said loudly, wanting to tip Mrs. Howell off about Scotty’s orneriness. Reading began. Mrs. Howell read the first two pages while each child listened. She turned to write the vocabulary words on the blackboard. Patty felt something ping her back. She looked behind her. All of her classmates had their heads down writing the vocabulary words. Patty picked up her pencil and wrote the words as neatly as she could. Something else pinged her. This time she turned around and saw James laughing. She frowned, thinking that was warning enough. It wasn’t. A sharp ping on her neck followed. Patty shrieked.
    Mrs. Howell was startled, “Patricia, what’s wrong?”
    Patty knew tears were called for. “James is throwing things at me,” she sobbed.
    Mrs. Howell marched to the middle of the room. “Are these peas on the floor around Patricia’s desk?” she asked Jimmy.
    “I don’t know,” he responded.
    “Open your desk, James,” Mrs. Howell ordered. Jimmy opened his desk. Right on top was his trusty pea shooter and a pile of peas.
    “James, I think you need to meet our new principal, Mr. Liston,” she said.
    “It wasn’t me,” Jimmy protested. Scotty stuck his pea shooter and a handful of peas in his pocket. Jimmy could hear Scotty giggling.
    “Off to see Mr. Liston you go,” said Mrs. Howell.
    Jimmy took a detour to the nurse’s office. “Welcome back, James,” the nurse said. “I suppose you want to lay down.”
    “Yea, I’m sick,” Jimmy said. Scared sick, the nurse thought. When the lunch bell rang, Jimmy recovered and took himself to the cafeteria. He stood in line with Becky. “Oh, Becky, it’s the first day and I already got sent to the principal.”
    “Why?” Becky asked, distracted by the ice cream bars at the end of the line.
    “Scotty Cadwallader…” Jimmy started to say.
    “Again,” Becky said. “I guess I will have to teach him how to be nice.”
    “Be careful,” Jimmy warned. “He knows how to box now.”
    “Don’t you remember Jimmy, I’m a tap dancer. Daddy says I’m quick on my feet,” Becky said. “I’ll see him at recess.” Becky went back to the fourth-grade classroom thinking about Scotty. Her mother’s advice about not fighting was forgotten. The afternoon recess bell rang. Becky caught a look at Scotty while students spilled out onto the playground. “Uh oh, he’s really big now, what am I going to do?” Becky asked Sharon who wanted to come along and watch.
    “Why don’t you get David to fight Scotty?” Asked Sharon.
    “That’s what I’ll do,” Becky said. “David took me on a friendship-date, he likes me.”
    The girls found David. “Will you fight Scotty Cadwallader for me?” Becky asked him pleading with her eyes. She saw mommy doing this when she wanted daddy to do something mommy didn’t want to do.
    “No, Becky,” David said. “Everyone gets hurt when you punch and we all will be sitting in the principal’s office.”
    “Hump,” Becky said. “Looks like I have to teach Scotty to leave my brother be.” Becky felt a ping, then another, and another; she was under fire from Scotty’s pea shooter.
    “I heard you’re going to fight me,” Scotty said to Becky. Becky’s temper flared, she picked up a fist-full of powdery dirt and threw it at Scotty. It blew into a fine dust before reaching its target. Scotty was very surprised; so surprised he swallowed a pea meant for Becky. It went down with a gulp.
    Becky laughed. Sharon did too. Sharon said, “Scotty now you’re not going to be able to poop. It will all back up inside of you and come out of your mouth.” Scotty was terrified. The big boy shuttered. With tears flowing, Scotty ran inside the school headed for the nurse’s office.
    “I swallowed a pea,” he told the nurse. “Now poop’s going to come out of my mouth.” The nurse heard all kinds of outrageous things from the children, but this was the best.
    “Scotty, drink this water,” she said. “Peas can’t do that to anyone. You’re okay.” Scotty realized he’d been duped. The nurse sent him back to Mrs. Howell’s classroom.
    Patty and Billy and four or five other kids watched Scotty return to his desk. Billy pointed to Scotty and whispered to the other kids. A wave of laughter erupted.
    “What’s so funny children?” Mrs. Howell asked.
    The story was told to Mrs. Howell; the whole story, the absolute truth. Jimmy was exonerated but a search was made of all the desks in the second-grade class of 25 students: 12 boys and 13 girls. Twelve pea shooters were recovered.
    “William Chalmers, you are the only boy who didn’t bring a pea shooter to school. What a good boy you are.”
    Billy beamed.
    “Patricia Brown,” Mrs. Howell continued. “I’m disappointed in you. You are the only girl who brought a pea shooter.” Patty almost cried.

    Reply
    1. Lancelot Schaubert

      This is fun. Is all of it true or…?

      Reply
  9. David

    When my Godson was about 3 years old, he was in the phase where he was constantly asking questions. Sometimes he didn’t always know how to phrase what he was meaning to ask, so you had to help him out forming a question. I was playing with him when he asked me, “Unca D, how come you’re so big?” I did my best to figure out what he meant and said, “Well, you know that people start out really tiny in thier mommy’s belly, right? And they grow and grow as kids until they reach a certain size and are grown up. So I’m big because I’m older than you.” This seemed to satisfy him for the moment, and he went back to working with some toy or other. About a minute later, he looked up at me again and asked, “But then why do you talk like a kid?” I was speechless and to this day I have never had another human being cut me so deeply to the core!

    Reply
    1. Lancelot Schaubert

      Oof. That’s hard. What do you think he meant?

      Reply
      1. David

        I learned later that he meant that the way I spoke with him was different than the way his father spoke with him. I tend to match my language level to the age of the kid, not meaning to talk down but rather meet their level of comprehension. That, coupled with the fact that I AM a big kid.

        Reply
        1. Lancelot Schaubert

          Gotcha yeah

          Reply
        2. Lancelot Schaubert

          That’s cool that you try to communicate though

          Reply
  10. Jim Fox

    Years ago, the first winter that Marsha and I lived in Boise, Idaho, an early snow set in. Our son, Jason, was five years old, and was delighted to wake up to snow blanketing the ground. I shoveled the drive and headed off to work. Later in the day Marsha called and said to stop by the hardware store and buy some mousetraps, as mice had scurried in from the field in back of our house. When i got home, I baited a trap with cheese as Jason watched. I told him we were going to put it in between the refrigerator and cabinet. I crouched down and pushed in the trap “Now we wait for a mouse to show up, ” I said, as I rocked back on my heels. Suddenly, Jasan, sitting in the middle of the kitchen floor, a couple feet away from me, tilted back his head and let out a blood-curdling scream! I jumped back from my crouched position and gasped, “What’s the matter!”
    Jason simply said, “That’s how Moma calls the mice.”

    Reply
    1. Lancelot Schaubert

      WILLARD!!!!!

      Tara had to see this oh my goodness

      Reply
    2. Douglas

      funny .. and scary..

      Reply
      1. Lancelot Schaubert

        Yes, thus the Willard reference. Absolutely horrifying.

        Reply
        1. James Fox

          But Willard was about Rats!
          hmmm…. cue Wizard of Oz (Cowardly Lion dialog)
          “Fellas, we’re trapped like rats…(shudders, then makes thumb and forefinger, tiny measurement) uh, mice!”)

          Reply
          1. Lancelot Schaubert

            Fair, fair. As someone dealing with a mice infestation in the apartment building, that difference MATTERS. Haha

            Reply
  11. Scott D Vander Ploeg

    Revenge Memory

    He knew where the pot was kept, which shelf and cabinet in the kitchen. His son needed breakfast, and was used to getting a bowl of oatmeal, or cream of wheat. His son was two-going-on-three. His wife, my mother, had gone to the hospital. I did not know it yet, but her condition led to me being an only child. My essential loneliness was confirmed and fated by a tubal pregnancy.

    When the emergency erupted, dad placed me with the older British couple who lived across the street, the Lewises. They were old: she a wrinkled face looking down from a cloud of white hair; he peering at me through bifocals that warped the way his eyes looked, so that fish heads swam in my memory. They were nice if scary to me. Lil smelled of lavender and Tom wore misshapen white short sleeve shirts.

    She came home from the hospital the next day, but was assigned bed-rest. This led to the morning when dad made my breakfast. I vowed to him I would remember this day. It is my earliest memory.

    I had never seen my father cook anything. He had spent some years in the Army in WWII, and after that went to university on the G. I. Bill, and lived at home till graduation and a job in a town a couple of hours away by car. His mother was famous for making casseroles, dad’s favorite fare. Could he do so himself? I had no idea. When you are two-going-on-three, you don’t know or understand about such matters as your parents’ training for being parents.

    He ran water from the sink and into the pot. He had been present in the kitchen enough mornings to know that to make the oatmeal he would need to boil the water and add the measure from the paper canister, the one with the man wearing the big hat on it. It was Quaker Oats, but I had not seen it perform any kind of motion let alone quaking.

    He had seen his wife add salt to the water to speed up the boiling process, so he made sure to do that. It is possible he forgot that he had done so, and did it again. It is equally possible that he only did this water preparation ritual the one time, but badly overestimated the amount of salt needed. It is equally possible that his streak of mischief had awakened and he did it intentionally, but whichever was the true case, the water for the oatmeal was like brine. Sea water is less salty than what he plunged the oats into.

    I sat there at the table, watching dad prepare my bowl of yummy goodness, the sticky and sweetened oatmeal. He placed a bowl of the stuff before me and I dug in.

    One bite and I was shocked and outraged, spitting out the gooey salty mess. “Dad, I’m going to remember this,” I threatened.

    Reply
    1. Lancelot Schaubert

      Oof. Yeah. Lot of feels with that one.

      Reply
  12. jennifromrollamo

    One silly kid story off the top of my head: John, age 4, and the twins, Julia and Lydia, 2, were hanging out in our dining room as I was cooking supper. John came in to the kitchen and with tears in his light, blue eyes, he said, “Mom, the Christmas tree fell down.”. I went to the dining room and the twins were standing there as if frozen. I couldn’t raise the tree and told the three of them that Dad would be able to get it upright when he got home from work. I then reminded them that the tree is pretty and just for looking at and they nodded their heads slowly and solemnly, John relieved as he was sure he was going to get a spanking. To this day, the three of them, 22 and 24 now, can’t quite remember how that tree fell down!

    Reply
    1. Lancelot Schaubert

      Did they try to climb it? We did that once. Any other Christmas tree climbers out there?

      Reply
    2. James Fox

      Simple! An Elephant climbed in and knocked it down!
      You boomers may recall the Tonka Truck ad on TV, where the spokesman standing alongside a solid metal Tonka Truck reads a letter to Santa from a kid who says his truck got broken by an elephant that climbed in the window stepped on the truck and climbed back out. The spokesman laughs and says Tonka Toys are built really tuff, so that kid is probably on Santa’s naughty list. Then a Mahout leads an elephant on screen, it places a foot on the truck and totally flattens it, and they walk off. The spokesman scoops up the truck and says, ok, we that kid an apology.

      Reply
      1. Lancelot Schaubert

        hahaha. There’s gotta be a link to that commercial
        somewhere. Bonus points if you can find it

        Reply
        1. James Fox

          Uh Oh, checked with my Bro-in-law, who said the truck did NOT smash – in the commercial, that is – says I was thinking about when David Horowitz challenged this commercial on his “Fight Back!” program in the mid-70’s, and …. the elephant flattened the truck!

          Reply
          1. Lancelot Schaubert

            You have a link for both?

            Reply
  13. Jonathan

    One Halloween about 5 years ago, maybe more, it was when everyone was talking about zombies being real because someone had taken Bath Salts and tried to eat someone’s face… and that Halloween I was warning kids to watch out for zombies. One kid gave me his light-up sword for protection, but I gave it back because I couldn’t take the kid’s sword. Then one little girl’s brother with Down Syndrome came up to me on the porch and asked me if I was afraid of zombies, because I was telling everyone to watch out for them, and when I said yes, he gave me one of the best hugs of my life.

    A little 3 year old was coming up the drive and I told her to watch out for my pet bear, Jupiter who is dressed up as a cat, and she stopped, looked at my sweet cat sitting in ther driveway, and instead of saying what I thought which is, Nuh uh! That’s not a bear, that’s a cat! As I’d expect from a child, she said matter-of-fact, your cat has a great costume!

    It was a very good year.

    Reply
    1. Lancelot Schaubert

      Haha, that’s awesome. I love that the first kid was like thank you for believing the truth mixed with it’s okay: go ahead and cry.

      And did the second kid say that your cat has a good costume? Or your bear?

      Because then it’s pretty meta: your cat. Dressed up as a bear. Dressed up as a cat.

      That’s some Petception there.

      Reply
  14. Douglas Berman

    Children are abundant in Southeast Asia. According to UNICEF, “South Asia is home to about 627 million children under 18 years of age1 – approximately 36 percent of the total population of 1.82 billion.” Most of these children are poor by Western standards. It can break your heart.

    A few years ago I spent two weeks in Myanmar touring the cities, lakes, and mountain tops. Once I arrived in Yangon I headed directly to the bar & grill with the high ceilings, staircase, and pool table where I had a burger with two martinis, then a strudel and an espresso. Sitting in my little pirate alcove, steeped in high-ceilinged luxury, sipping a martini, reading the papers, I gazed at monks, old women, and children streaming past. Across the street, an empty field, two soccer goals set up where balls were shot into the net in the dusk.

    …

    In the capitol, Yangon, one sees children holding outsized alms bowls in their two hands. They congregate outside temples and mob tourists. I feel sorry for them and often donate a bit of the local currency. They smile, raise small fists, in response.

    …

    5 pm now. Children are walking home. The air stills at this time much like the slowing of voices at this time in this place. Not like the city center, which is normally jammed with traffic at this hour.

    Monks in red robes in motion. Children with alms bowls wearing pink outfits move in unison down the side of the street next to the sidewalk.

    Around sundown, a few blocks from the restaurant, I come across a fellow American, shirtless and sweating, working out with a group of children on a set of steel bars installed on the sidewalk on an otherwise nondescript road. His arms and shoulders clench tightly as he takes the bars.

    The street borders an unfinished four-story structure and, next to that, a grassy knoll where someone has placed an unfinished apartment complex. Unglassed, it juts out into the sky.

    We talk briefly. He tells me he is teaching the children athletic skills, and that some have attained a certain mastery over the arts—heaving their lithe bodies up and over the bars, hanging from their feet, performing cross-over pull-ups. A day later I see him in a different part of the city gliding past. His head down, he does not see me. Something about him feels off, so I decide not to reach out. I go past and never see him again..

    …

    One day, I find myself strolling down a quiet side alley, narrower and darker, but with a nice canopy of trees; I see a concrete enclosure wedged in beneath the buildings. A young child is stirring a sock amidst the filth with a wooden stick. Ragged half-clothed children wander back and forth; a few kick a soccer ball to each other.

    A young mother sitting on a small bench smiles at me and raises her naked child up to be photographed; soon I am surrounded by lots of children who smile and mug for the camera. I snap pictures. Trash flows in a nearby stream. I suddenly feel a bit sad. The kids flash smiles and raise arms in unison.

    …

    A week into the trip I hit the road, head to the highlands, a temple region. Not a city. I see fewer people; and those I do see are clad in the standard red monk’s garb of the region. One morning I am walking down a dirt road when I see a single monk, an adolescent of 11 or 12, walk toward me. I raise my arm slightly, smile, and, in the spirit of camaraderie, preare my voice to speak the word “hello” in the local tongue. The young man smiles slightly, adjusts his robe, and before a sound emits, raises a finger as a sign, no speaking. This is walking meditation. He walks by me without speaking. But I sense his energy. It feels good. I continue on my way.

    Reply
    1. Lancelot Schaubert

      Whereof we cannot speak, thereof we must remain silent.” — Wittgenstein

      “It will be short; the interim is mine,
      And a man’s life is no more than to say ‘one.'”
      — Hamlet in Act V, Scene 2 by Shakespeare

      Reply
  15. Galen K Rea

    My daughter looked at me (her dad) taking my shirt off. “You have mucks (breasts) like mama”

    Reply
    1. Lancelot Schaubert

      hahaha. Did you respond?

      Reply
  16. A Defense of Baby Worship • The Showbear Family Circus

    […] two facts which attract almost every normal person to children [and tempt them towards baby worship] are, first, that children are very serious, and, secondly, […]

    Reply
  17. Lauden Baker

    When my little brother Logan was around six years old, he was starting to hit consistent growth spurts. He was the cutest little guy with white-blonde hair, bright blue eyes, and an energetic spirit. My mom would playfully look at him and say, “If you keep growing as fast as you are, I’m gonna’ have to put a brick on your head.”

    Logan took great pride in being mom’s “Little Man.” And once, when mom was taking evening snack orders, Mom asked Logan if he wanted some popcorn.

    “Is it a mini-bag?” Logan asked. “I only eat the mini-bags of popcorn!”

    “And why is that?” Mom asked with piqued curiosity.

    “Because…” Logan replied with an innocent, puppy-dog stare, “…I want to stay mini so I can be your ‘Little Man’ forever.”

    Reply
    1. Lancelot Schaubert

      “I shall call him: Mini Me.”

      Reply
  18. Janet Ross

    One of the girls from the Agape house, Jimena 8 years old, is a fun living, high 5 giving girl. She’s the oldest of 3 sisters who tried to protect her younger 2 sisters, Sarai and Yoselin before they came to the Niños family.

    She invited us to her birthday celebration a year ago, and had warmed up to us ever since.

    She loves to play and color, quite the creative. We have had many conversations while she is in creative mode. God allowed us to bond over a patio table with a coloring book and creations, while listening to silly children’s songs

    This past September the Agape family were praying for Steve and I, and God impressed on Jimena to pray for me for some unknown reason (as told to me by her house mom about a month ago).

    Jimena had woken up in the middle of the night with me on her mind. She was concerned for tia (aunt)Janet. So her house mom, Luci, reminded her that God is awake at all hours of the night, and is willing to hear our prayers all day long or even at night. So, Luci and Jimena began to intercede for me.

    I had no idea how Jimena would touch my heart with her compassion and genuine concern.

    So now, when Jimena wakes up at night and is thinking of me, or any other adult, she prays. She gets it! She now knows and believes that God hears our prayers no matter what time of day and no matter what is going on, because He cares for each and every person, and He answers prayer.

    Reply
    1. Lancelot Schaubert

      Oh that’s super sweet of her to keep you in mind in that way. Good to have such a young, faithful advocate!

      Reply
  19. Dustin Collier

    It’s a kid story in the sense of the night my daughter was born but it really pertains to the kindness of a stranger:

    My wife Amanda was two days away from her scheduled induction of my daughter Rowan and Amanda calls me while I’m at work to tell me that she was having pretty bad cramps and her Dr. wanted her to come to the hospital and be monitored. While there they decided that she was pretty much in labor so they broke her water and started contractions. At this time I was working an hour and a half from home so I start my on my way to the hospital. I arrived in record time and as the contractions worsened Amanda decided to go ahead and get the epidural started so there was some time for me to order some food because with my son it was a solid hour almost two between epidural and time to start pushing so I thought I’d have plenty of time. It was supper time so I ordered some Dominos, I don’t miss many meals haha. So we are patiently waiting and the nurse comes to check her dilation and she says I’m calling the dr. Her head is right there..and hadn’t received my pizza yet. Doctor comes in and on my wife’s third push he’s holding my perfect little girl and I hear my phone ring, it’s Dominos, ready to deliver my pizza 🤦🏼‍♂️ I at the soonest moment I could text the delivery person and tell her I’ll be down in 5 minutes and that my wife just delivered our daughter. I think her name was Sarah, so Sarah text me back and said congratulations and that she spoke with her manager and that they comped the pizza. The pizza is at the welcome desk in the lobby. I called later that evening to give the biggest compliment of Sarah I could and a huge thank you to Dominos.

    Friends..always seek moments to show the kindness like that of our Father. The impact can be greater than you could imagine.

    Reply
    1. Lancelot Schaubert

      No lie: would have given anything for that pizza. That’s great.

      Reply
  20. A

    I was in the kitchen with my 8 year old son last week, and my partner came downstairs to talk to us. He’s standing there, wearing shorts, talking about something, when our son blurts out: “DAD! WHY ARE YOUR BALLS SO BIG??”
    My partner just froze, stuttered, and turned bright red. I honestly don’t remember what happened next, the top-of-the-lungs screaming about balls completely derailed whatever was going on.

    Reply
    1. Lancelot Schaubert

      Oh man that’s so so awkward. I’d be horrified and then probably laugh hysterically.

      Reply
  21. CLAYTON CORMANY

    “Hey, Daddy!” My five-year-old daughter chirped, her eyes aglow with excitement.

    “What, Rachel?” I said, dropping my newspaper and hoping she wasn’t going to make another request for a dog or cat.

    “I got a prize for my book.”

    “Really? What book would that be?”

    “You know – Fuzzer’s Flower.”

    The title rang a bell. “Oh, you mean that story about the little boy bear who finds a flower and gives it to a girl bear?”

    She nodded emphatically.

    “Well, that’s great,” I answered. “So where is this prize?”

    “I don’t have it yet. My school’s going to give it to me later.”

    “Later?” I said, a little puzzled.

    “Oh, I almost forgot!” she exclaimed. She bolted into the kitchen and returned, clutching a piece of paper, which she deposited into my hand. The paper was a school bulletin announcing that in two weeks a special recognition ceremony would be held at the high school to confer awards on those students “who demonstrated outstanding creativity” in the book they wrote as part of the school district’s “Literacy Week” celebration.

    “Can you and mommy come?” Rachel asked.

    “I’m sure we can, Sweetie,” I said, giving her a kiss on the cheek.

    As Rachel hurried to her room (perhaps to search for the missing head of her Barbie doll), I basked in the warm glow of parental pride. My daughter, my own flesh-and-blood child, was going to be honored for her writing. Somehow, presumably through the magic of genetics, my abilities as a writer had been transferred to her and were now beginning to blossom. In the days before the ceremony, I missed few opportunities to share Rachel’s (and indirectly my) success. Colleagues at work, neighbors, friends, immediate and extended family members all got an earful about Rachel's writing talent. "Why, she's just like her dad," some of them gushed. I didn't argue.

    Following the instructions in the school bulletin, Rachel, my wife, and I arrived at the high school auditorium well before the scheduled time for the ceremony. Just after 7:00 p.m., the school district’s assistant superintendent came on stage. She welcomed everyone, gave some background on “Literacy Week,” and then said the words we all wanted to hear: “It’s time to give these outstanding students their awards.”

    The kindergarteners were first. As Rachel’s name was called along with another student’s, I clutched my hands in delighted anticipation and watched as she scurried up the stairs to the brightly lit stage. A blonde-haired boy who was small even by kindergarten standards followed in her wake. The school administrator smiled and then moved forward with two framed ribbons in hand.

    “Our kindergarten winners are Jason Chandler and Rachel Cormany,” she announced. “Jason receives a Newberry Award for the outstanding writing in his book, Dinosaur Invasion. Rachel is receiving a Caldecott Award for the lovely illustrations in her book, Fuzzer’s Flower.”

    Huh? Illustrations? I felt as if someone smacked me with a two-by-four. In that same moment, a cloud of shame descended on me, as I realized how vain I had been. Rachel, even at five years old, was her own person with her own set of talents – talents that did not necessarily match those of her father. As Rachel and Jason went forward to receive their ribbons, I applauded as hard as I could, and vowed never again to make her or any of my other children stand-ins for me and my sometimes-bloated ego.

    After the ceremony, Rachel proudly showed me the ribbon she won. “Isn’t it neat?” she asked. “Look at all the pretty colors in it.”

    I nodded. She certainly had an eye for beauty, I thought. Just as a writ-, I mean, illustrator should.

    Reply
    1. Lancelot Schaubert

      Haha, that’s wild. Also A CALDECOTT MEDAL AT FIVE? Really?

      Yeah pretty colors indeed. I think they come in GOLD.

      Awesome.

      Reply
      1. Clay Cormany

        It was actually a Junior Caldecott prize. I’m not sure if the American Library Association sanctioned it or not. Rachel’s school might have just “borrowed” the name.

        Reply
        1. Lancelot Schaubert

          Ha gotcha. I’m going to assume she has an ALA award

          Reply
  22. Connor

    There are some works of art that are so wonderful, so magnificent, that upon completion, the artist, having created beauty which will never be surpassed, puts away their tools and never works again.
    It was on the fifth of July, 1995, that I, Connor, created such a work.

    It was the day after Independence Day, and my friend Toby, my little brother, and I had just finished scouring the local park for leftovers from the previous night’s activities. While our hopes and dreams of finding a stash of unused fireworks were ultimately crushed, our sorrows were placated when we discovered a barely used bucket of sidewalk chalk. Like little Michelangelos, we ran back home to the the driveway that was to become our Sistine Chapel.

    Divvying up the driveway into thirds, we immediately got to work. Given the surplus of peach colored chalk, we all agreed that it was a no-brainer that we should draw people, and what better subjects than the artists themselves?! With one three yard square allotted to each of us, we spread out and began our self portraits.

    It should be noted that at this point in time, my brother, Trevor, was about 5 years old. As the older brother, it was my summer responsibility to make sure he stayed out of trouble during the day. If I was successful in this, I would be allowed to go and hang out with my friends in the evening.
    It should also be noted that unbeknownst to me, my brother was behind me drawing a stick person with a massive penis.

    Toby was the first to notice.

    “Hey, look! Your brother drew a ding-dong! Your mom is gonna kill you!”

    I turned around and looked.

    Sure enough, my brother had drawn a life size stick person with an enormous “ding-dong”. And judging by the laughing, goofy smile on his face, he couldn’t have been more proud.

    “Trevor!” I yelled. “What are you doing!? Get a hose and erase that before mom sees…”

    But it was too late. Before I could finish the sentence, the front door of our house opened and my mom stepped out.

    “Hi guys! Does anyone want some lemonade?”

    Nobody said anything.

    “What’s wrong,” she asked, seeing our petrified looks. Then she saw it.

    She burst out laughing.

    “Trevor! Did you do this?”

    “Yes! All by myself!”

    She was in tears now, almost rolling on the ground.

    Assured that we were in the clear, Toby and I started to laugh too.

    “Well, who knew? We have a little artist in the family! So how about that lemonade?”

    A half an hour or so later, Trevor went in for a nap, leaving Toby and I to finish our drawings.

    “My mom was really impressed by that drawing. I’m kind of surprised.”

    Toby looked back and examined my brother’s work.

    “Yeah, man. I thought we were toast. And honestly, it’s not that even that good. It’s basically just sticks and a circle for a head. The hands don’t even have five fingers!”

    That’s when the spark hit me. My mind went ablaze with creativity and I reached for the peach colored chalk.

    Toby looked at me suspiciously.

    “Connor, what are you doing?”

    “Dude, just think. If my mom was impressed by the garbage my brother just drew, think of how impressed she’d be if we drew the same thing, but better? We’re like four years older and have art class in school!”

    Toby’s face glowed.

    “Yeaaaah! Oh man, that’s an awesome idea! I’ll do it, too!”

    And so, erasing the pants off of our portraits with the hose, we began.

    In our classroom at school, there was a book of various artworks that can be found around the city of Rome. In a stroke of pure luck, it just so happened that Toby spent all his free time staring intently at that book, so he was able to explain exactly what everything we were drawing should look like. However, knowing that it was the “ding-dong” that had really drawn my mom’s attention to Trevor’s drawing, we decided that we needed to go above and beyond anything we had seen in the art book. We figured roughly half the length of the subject would be the proper size to aim for.
    We were just about finished with our magna opera (yes, that is the plural of magnum opus. I checked), when a car pulled into the driveway. It was the local Cub Scout leader, Mr. Baldwin.

    “Hi, Mr. Baldwin.”

    “Hi, guys. What are you up…oh my!”

    “We’re drawing ding-dongs! But really good ones!”

    “I see. And does your mom know what you’re doing?”

    “Yeah, definitely. She thinks it’s hilarious.”

    He paused and watched us draw for a moment.

    “You know, I just find that really hard to believe.

    “No, it’s true,” said Toby, not looking up from his drawing. “She said she’s really impressed.”

    “Hmmm. If you say so. Anyway, would you mind giving her this box of stuff?” He got a box out of his car. “It’s for the next meeting. Oh, Nevermind. There she is now.”

    It was on July 5th, 1995, when art died in my household. My mother, upon seeing the immense talent her son and his friend possessed, immediately made us wash the chalk drawings off of the driveway. It’s been almost thirty years, and to this day, I still tear up when I think about their destruction. My mom still maintains that it was destroyed because what we drew was vulgar and grotesque, but I know the truth.
    On that day, I created something that was so astoundingly beautiful that it will never be surpassed, and my mom, in her envy, snapped.
    I’m okay with that, though, because in the end I know that even if it was just for one day, only one moment, I was an artist

    Reply
    1. Lancelot Schaubert

      Good Lord, I miss you, Connor. This was absolutely hilarious. Thank you.

      Reply
  23. jerry muzsik

    I was in Northern Minnesota near Duluth last month for 3 weeks, doing this WWOOF’ing trip. Living/working on a small farm and spending an inordinate amount of time giving attention to a 4 y/o named Clayton. Any moment he had a moment of boredom he’d come up to me or another and say, “Do you wanna pay wi me?” or “Can you pay wi me?”. It’s impossible to say no.

    Fast forward to one of my last days. It’s the morning, after we did our chores – milk the goats, feed the animals, clean up – we see snow out the window, the first snow of the year. Duluth gets a lot of snow, almost 90 inches on average a year, land covered in snow for months on end.

    When Clayton notices it he rushes over to me full of somber glee, “can we pay in the snow?” I say yes, and go up to my room to get dressed warmer clothe, he follows. He walks over to the window and stands right in front of it. He says suddenly: ‘I am so happy right now’. I remember the way he said it more than anything – as serene and childlike and sincere as can be imagined.

    Outside. The first snow, he sticking his tongue out to catch the snowflakes, he and i and the pups wandering in the pig pasture for the first time – where are the pigs, he asks? They were taken days prior, a year and a half old and sent off to slaughter. I didn’t say that, I simply asked him where he thinks they went. His distracted mind moved elsewhere.

    I could write pages of this short bit of time, just a few hours and i have – it’s in my journal somewhere. Clayton and the first snow in Northern Minnesota.

    Reply
    1. Lancelot Schaubert

      Oh that’s great that you did WWOOF — how did it go, overall?

      That’s terribly crushing, terribly beautiful. Would love to hear more about it. thanks for sharing, Jerry

      Reply
  24. Eduardo

    Once I was teaching a young lad art lessons. I allowed myself to get distracted by looking at my phone, getting mindlessly engrossed in what amounted to little at that moment. He noticed me and began to call for my attention with “Edward, Edward: I’m here. What are you doing, I’m here.” as he looked straight into my eyes with a smile. I realized what I was doing and it pierced me quite deeply. After that, I never want to deprive someone, especially a child, of my attention and presence.

    Reply
    1. Lancelot Schaubert

      Thanks Eduardo. This is a good reminder — and certainly a good reason all the more to reflect on our intersections with others, in this case, children.

      Reply
  25. Jonathon

    Our 3 year old: Mommy, Daddy, tell me about bad men.
    Us: Oh, wow. Umm, well, this world is not perfect and, err, not everyone you meet is, um. So, bad men…”
    3 year old: Not bad men. Batman.
    Us: Oh. Batman. He has a cape…

    Reply
    1. Lancelot Schaubert

      I feel like this is a riff that could continue for a very, very long time.

      3 year old: Batman knows the world not perfect.
      Us: Yes. Yes, Batman knows about bad men.
      3 year old: Batman bash bad men. Is Batman bad man?
      Us: Well Batman isn’t perfect, especially for those that meet him, so…

      Reply
  26. Lew Flagg

    When my son was about 6 or 7, we lived on a cul-de-sac with lots of families with kids in the same age group. My son had a Big Wheel, but he had two limitations: stay on the sidewalk and don’t leave the street.

    I went out one evening to call him for supper, in time to see him rounding the corner at the end of the street. But at least he was on the sidewalk.

    I walked down to the end of the street to call him in and rounded the corner in time to see him coming down the street in the middle of the road, with a V-shaped wing of bikes following him. So I told him he was grounded for the evening.

    After super, he was playing in the back yard when the boy next door asked to come over and play.

    “I can’t,” he replied. “I’m being ‘frustrated’.”

    Reply
    1. Lancelot Schaubert

      That’s super sweet. How many others do you think he got to follow him?

      Reply
  27. Fr. James

    When I was about 5 years old, my mom and I visited a popular Catholic pilgrimage site in NY. As I walked through the beautiful grounds and visited chapels, I came across and met a friar for the first time. So, of course, I asked him if he was God. He laughed and told my mom that he wanted me to return in 20 years to become a priest. After more than 20 years of living my faith and discerning a vocation, I found God and now I’m a priest of Jesus Christ!

    Reply
    1. Lancelot Schaubert

      Oh this is cool. What was the pilgrimage site?

      “Are you God?” haha that’s awesome. Very Enoch.

      Have you returned to the site in robes?

      Reply
  28. Caleb Denison

    When my son Silas was three years old he was in the “pointing” phase. We were trying to break him free from the typical compulsion of pointing at people and stating cold, hard opinion. We were shopping for groceries at the big blue box, when a woman with an oxygen tank, tubes around her face and up her nostrils, emerges from around the corner on an electric moto-cart. Silas points, and quite clearly says, “Mom, look at that”. My wife calmly grabs his hand and tucks it back down to his side, and begins to explain to him the we don’t point at people, ever. Especially in drawing attention to them and having something to say about them, or what they’re doing, or wearing, or whatever. She told him, “I know it’s hard not to notice or want to say something, but you have to control yourself. We don’t know what they’re situation is”.

    Silas looked at her, crinkled his nose, and said, “Well, she had a situation coming out of her nose”.

    Reply
    1. Lancelot Schaubert

      Bahahahaha. That’s awesome. As someone with sleep apnea and whose father died in a similar hose situation, I find this particularly dark and hilarious.

      I’m going to assume it was a model of Michael Paul Sorrentino coming out her nose. That or a room in the White House.

      The White Hose.

      I had a similar run in during my early, early, early years in an Arabic context as a college freshman where I first encountered a revered Sheikh using henna dye in his beard and hair. I pointed as the crowd let out of Jum’ah and shouted, “CHECK OUT THAT GUY’S GNARLY HARIDO!”

      And my mentor shouted, “غبي!” and slapped me on the back of the head.

      And then forty Arab elders pointed at laughed at me instead.

      And then I got a henna tattoo.

      Reply
  29. Jonathan Lyonhart

    My three year old son was mad about cleaning up his toys one time. So he went into the bathroom, plugged the sinks and turned them on, locked the door from the inside, then left and shut the door behind him so I couldn’t get in to turn off the sinks.

    I’m not even mad. I was just so impressed by his diabolical brilliance.

    Reply
    1. Lancelot Schaubert

      Holy smokes that’s evil. That reminds me of a roommate I used to have who once got mad at the landlord, who lived with us, that had complained about his dishes in the sink — how they would likely draw ants. So this roommate filled a squirt bottle with a bunch of sugar water and hosed the countertops with it.

      Then left the apartment that night. Next day?

      Ants. Ants everywhere.

      Reply
  30. C.L.W.

    growing up in a small town in southeast mo during and right after World War Two most of our games centered around the war because I had three uncles in the war.

    One time we kids chose up sides and decided to have a war game. We all had BB guns so we had the run of the small town. We split up then took up the hunt. We were actually shooting at one another, I know stupid but maybe you have never grown up in a small southern town looking for something to do.

    One of the other team ran to hide in a small barn in my back yard.. they were shooting us from the loft and definitely had the advantage. Then we decided to set the grass around the barn on fire too smoke them out, good idea, huh?

    As they jumped from the loft we shot them then realized the barn was burning so had to get the water buckets and then had to holler for help from the adults in town, we had no fire station or pumper truck.

    The bad part was our outhouse was built into the barn and that was going to be bad. Got the fire out and saved most of the barn. Then the adults had lost all sense of humor and we all got a whipping plus they took our BB guns away for a little while. we all talked about this years later and had some good laughs, even the ones who had to bail out of the barn.

    Reply
    1. Lancelot Schaubert

      Oh man, my dad “Bren” did this too. Grandma “Beth” let him set up in the hallway once, set up army men all the way down the hall with pillows at the end. She could be really cool, sometimes: this time she let him do a shooting range in the house. Why she got stubborn and stuck-up other times, I can’t really understand.

      But yeah, they got good enough to shoot squirrels off the line, shoot them with nail guns end over end (that was Uncle Bryan, whose in memoriam is here), to where they even electrified the fence to that effect.

      In any case, yes this reminds me a lot of Bell Hammers. I hope you tell these stories some day.

      Reply
  31. C.L.W.

    #2: during the summer one year we all got bored and again playing war so all the
    Houses were built on triangle blocks to help; with ventilation . We all decided to dig us a pit around the blocks on one end of my house then we could get in this and shoot out at the other kids, again our BB guns were involved. This was great and kept us all out of the house, then it came on of those southern rains, the pit filled up, the end of the house then settled down. Family had to get some jacks and jack the house up and reset the blocks again we all got a whipping, was told to ask before we did something stupid like this again, so we got bye the rest of the summer without any more whippings.

    Reply
    1. Lancelot Schaubert

      Wait. YOU SANK AN ENTIRE HOUSE FROM FOX HOLES?

      Hahaha.

      Reply
      1. James Fox

        Soft rains will come,
        and the smell of the ground….

        Reply
        1. Lancelot Schaubert

          See also the story by that name by Bradbury

          Reply
  32. Matt Guilford

    There was a time in my early childhood where I was experiencing a lot of stomach aches so much so that my parents had me to several specialists.

    On one return to the specialist I put on my shoes and coat and grabbed the 3-legged stool that sat in the living room and headed for the car.

    Before I made it out the door my dad stopped me and inquired, “Where are you going with that?” to which I replied, “Last time we were at the doctor’s he told us to remember to bring a stool with us.”

    Reply
    1. Lancelot Schaubert

      BAHAHAHAA that’s hilarious. Thank you so much, Matt.

      Reply
  33. Matt Guilford

    My wife and I don’t have children. However, we’ve became defacto uncle and aunt to the children (now adults) of our close friends who, for all intents and purposes are the most ideal family I’ve ever known.

    The husband is Mr. Professional always the consummate gentleman. The wife is driven, articulate, athletic, and a loving mom.

    Their three children are flawlessly polite, brilliant, and socially adept. Each were voted as homecoming king and queens in their respective year. They all graduated from university with honors.

    On one occasion my wife and I were visiting for the night and a spontaneous game of Hot Potato broke out in the family room. A tennis ball was the potato. The objective was to keep the ball moving as fast as possible. The one who had the ball could choose which way to send the ball – forwards, backwards, or lob it across the room to someone.

    The game was going faster and faster and Megan, the youngest child who was about four, was screaming, “Matt! Matt! Me! Me!” So I hucked the ball to her and she was glee-filled! She kept right on shouting, “Matt! Matt! THANK YOU, MATT!” in the same volume so everyone else who was also shouting could hear her.

    So, funny.

    Reply
    1. Lancelot Schaubert

      Oh that’s super sweet.

      Reply
  34. Molly

    By the time I was four and a half years old, I had mastered the art of getting dressed in the morning, with the exception of one crucial component- deciding what to wear. On one particular morning, I was especially paralyzed by indecision.

    I had been sitting on the floor for several minutes with my drawer open before me, staring helplessly at all of my favorite shirts. If I wear the Mets shirt, will the yellow flower shirt feel left out? If I choose my Snoopy outfit, will Mickey Mouse feel lonely and abandoned? I nearly despaired, until all of a sudden a brilliant idea came to me, the perfect answer to this near-impossible conundrum. Or so I initially thought…

    A medium-length while later, my dad hears me crying and comes in from the living room to investigate. When he asks me what’s wrong, I pitifully lament, “I can’t get my shirt on.” And indeed I could not. For I had been trying to put my t-shirt on over the top of a thick white sweatshirt, which itself had been put on over the top of somewhere in the range of 10-14 other shirts. I had tried to wear them all. The result was a very sad child looking strongly reminiscent of a snowman.

    Reply
    1. Lancelot Schaubert

      Hahahahahaha. Classic all or nothing. I think T has a similar story involving… something else. I’ll let her tell if she so chooses.

      I tended to keep a bag with quick changes. I didn’t like blending in so much as blending out: takes a lot of cultural agility to first fit right in and then immediately become the kind of person whom everyone in the room wants to stone.

      Takes a lot of clothes too.

      Reply
  35. Mark Michaelis

    The elephant painting.

    When I was a kid, I remember going to the zoo with my dad. It was a hot day, and it was one of the first times I’d ever gone to the zoo. We explored every section of the zoo and around the end of the trip, we made our way to the elephants. At the elephant exhibit we saw a huge crowd around the zoo. We had no idea what was going on so we investigated my dad, A large towering man pushed his way through the crowd like a bull in a china shop with me in tow. We talked to the zookeeper at the front of this crowd and

    THEY HAD TAUGHT THE ELEPHANTS TO PAINT

    Like with a paint brush and everything! They didn’t paint masterpieces but they could grab a paint brush with there trunks and put paint on a canvas. They were doing a show and a raffle. I was so excited and thrilled so we stayed and watched my dad put my name in the raffle and we watched it was amazing watching these just not unlike my dad grab these brushes and paint they used every color and had full autonomy over their art. It was amazing.

    We watched as one by one each elephant took there turn painting. And finally it was time for the raffle and I won!

    At the time I had no idea how many times my dad had put my name in but now I realize he bought like $100 worth of raffle tickets. He spent $100 just so I could maybe get that painting. I’m so grateful.

    I’m 22 now and that painting still hasn’t left my side in the 12-15 that I’ve owned it.

    Reply
    1. Lancelot Schaubert

      That’s super precious. Can you link to a picture of it?

      What other art do you own?

      Reply
    2. James Fox

      Great story.
      P.S. Now that is an Elephant TO HAVE in the room!

      Reply
      1. Lancelot Schaubert

        “I’ve brought you all here today to talk about the elephant in the room: this painting of an elephant right here that I am leaving you as an inheritance. Painted by this elephant. The one here in the room. Who painted the elephant…

        Reply
  36. johngranger

    My daughter Sophia was ten years old, a serious Harry Potter fan (the four books then in print), and really excited about roller blades and her violin. I was driving her to her weekly violin lesson in our family van that seated ten (she is the third of our seven children). She was in the front passenger seat, cradling her violin, wearing roller blades because she wore them everywhere. It was a special time because it was pretty rare for her to sit in the front and alone with dad.

    I explained that I had to make one stop before going to the lesson; I needed to drop off some papers and have a conversation with a man she’d met. I must have been gripping the wheel differently or made a face during that explanation. She asked me if it was a good meeting or a bad meeting. She’d sensed somehow I was more than a little uncomfortable about this stop.

    “It’s going to be an uncomfortable meeting, since you ask. I’ve had a business disagreement with a man I thought was a friend and I am pretty sure he’s not going to like what I’m going to show him and say. I’m not looking forward to it.” I shrugged and smiled over at her. She smiled back and then turned to look at the window.

    “Is there a parking lot there?” The unspoken question was “Y’know, for a quick bit of roller-blading while you go inside?” “Yes, there is,” I said, relieved she wasn’t too tuned into my angst. “A big, open space with no traffic to worry about.” She smiled, looked at the cars ahead of us, and held her bow pointing straight up.

    I pulled into the parking lot soon after, gathered my papers from the dash, and steeled myself for what I knew was going to be an unpleasant, if brief exchange. Sophia had unbuckled as soon as the van stopped, carefully put her violin and bow on the seat, snapped her helmet on, and jumped down on the empty lot for a quick spin. I headed for the entrance of the small single story building just off the shore where my former friend had his offices.

    When I got to the door, Sophia came wheeling up beside me and grabbed the handle of the right door as I opened the left side. Her head was not much higher than the handle and her pigtails and long, red, flowered skirt waved as she came to a twirling stop.

    “What do you think you’re doing?” I asked, a little surprised by her arrival. “I’m going in with you,” she said, toeing off and pulling the right door open.

    “Really? Why is that?”

    “It’s just like Harry Potter, Dad; friends don’t let friends face bad guys by themselves.” The unspoken part here was “Duh. I know you’ve read the books.”

    She marched into the carpeted entry in her wheeled boots, checked her chin strap, turned and pulled me inside by the hand. We slayed that dragon together and escaped moments later with light hearts and the fiend’s hoarded gold.

    Reply
    1. Lancelot Schaubert

      Dude.

      That is the coolest thing ever. I’m serious.

      I was always moved by an unnamed pastor in Seattle’s willingness to take his five year old son on hospice calls with him because he believed his son would rise to the occassion, in so doing brighten the spirits of those there, learn to be a man. What also happened is that he taught his own father how to be a better pastor every visit through beautiful faith like a child moments.

      It’s the quick, prompt responses of faith that really show us what we’re made of.

      I’ll be thinking of this for some time. Thanks so much for sharing and also for living well.

      And special thanks to Sophia for boldness.

      Reply
  37. Sandy

    My husband was complaining to our young daughter Tori:

    “I have no idea what to get your mom for Christmas.”

    “I know what you can do!” Tori exclaimed jumping up and down with conspiratorial glee. And she led him to the Disney store at the mall where she found the sequined villain tunic top I’d admired weeks earlier…

    Imagine my surprise, wondering what cringe-worthy item I’d find, all ready to feign delight, when I was dazzled by the ruby sparkles of Cruella’s gloves, Captain Hook’s jacket and the lining of Maleficent’s cape!

    Unforgettable. Will never part with it so get your own.

    Reply
    1. Lancelot Schaubert

      You like playing the villain? What’s your favourite part of Maleficent?

      Reply
      1. Sandy

        Hmm…I guess I deserve that. I think my answer is it depends. For instance, in the live-action Maleficent she is a betrayed and traumatized fairy who falls in love with little Aurora, calling her “Beastie.” My favorite part is it’s her “true-love’s- kiss that revives Aurora. That Maleficent I love, the one enchanted by a child, the one undone by the power of love.

        Reply
        1. Lancelot Schaubert

          Oh I wasn’t trying to be mean. I was genuinely curious. For instance: I think we are all attracted to The Joker’s chaotic competence for the same reason as Jack Sparrow’s. That’s fascinating about Maleficent, I didn’t know that!

          Reply
    2. James Fox

      You are a lucky Momma!
      I think it was on Colbert that Glen Close admitted that after she landed the role as Cruella, she had to scavenge around her house (it was during Covid lockdowns) to find bits and pieces for the costume so she could click in to a Zoom meeting in Character. She painted a chopstick to use as Cruella’s cigarette holder!

      Reply
      1. Lancelot Schaubert

        That’s hilarious and so so cool. I love these characters.

        I am STILL haunted by PSH’s villain in Mi3

        Reply
  38. Nate Perry

    My wife and I really care about what our kids watch, read, listen to, etc… I mean, kind of a part of the whole parenting role. That being said, my kids have an ungodly amount of screen time.

    When our youngest was about two years old she started telling us about how much she liked “sticky fingers”. Now, she’s just learning language and doesn’t always say things right at that time, but sure enough she wouldn’t stop talking about this mysterious and kinda scary “sticky fingers” she had been watching on her iPad. We monitor her shows and keep her off YouTube or anything that might have less monitored content, but for the life of us we couldn’t figure out who or what this sticky fingers was, and our imaginations were developing these ideas about how she may of gotten on a site or watched some messed up video with this so called- STICKY FINGERS. I googled… I asked around… but we had no clue. What was this ominous figure?

    Well, one day she was very excited and pointed to something and declared “sticky fingers”! I saw it then. A familiar blue/red masked costume with a giant spider on the chest.
    The relief was real. I instantly texted my wife.

    Sticky Fingers was just our friendly neighborhood Spider-Man.

    Reply
    1. Lancelot Schaubert

      lolol

      He is indeed that.

      Reply
  39. Mike Zirbel

    Hey Lancelot this is Mike. I have an absolutely amazing story. I’m gonna give it to you briefly I was taking a group of special forces to New Orleans today after Katrina hit to try and shore up the police department down there I was in Chesterfield Missouri which was a rendezvous point for all of the soldiers and I was at the Chesterfield Mall going into Walmart to buy water to take water to Norwich and I was gonna buy the store up basically and there was a mother and father that passed by my bus with two little girls probably eight and five and the man rolled out his window and said are you by chance going to New Orleans. I said yes I am and he said thank you very much I thought nothing more about it went into Walmart. Walmart contributed about 25 cases of water I bought the rest of it. So I had a bus load of water to take to New Orleans. About 20 minutes later back I comes the mom and dad and two little girls and father got out with a little girls and walked over to me and I said, “Good to see you all again.”

    And father said, “My little girls have something for you.”

    When had happened when the found out I was going to New Orleans they went home broke into their piggy banks got all their money and brought it to me so that I could help the people in New Orleans.

    Eight years old and five years old and young people. Heart of gold they had anyway great story, great young people, you’re never too young to care take care of yourself.

    Reply
    1. Lancelot Schaubert

      I think the only other time I’ve heard a story like this, Mike, was through Patrick Rothfuss and his Worldbuilder’s charity drive every year — of lots and lots of kids coming together to do really cool things for the hungry.

      Reply
  40. Judy Welch

    Here is my children’s story.
    In an Illinois city where we formerly lived, there was a department store parking lot that was notorious for strong winds. The wind could catch your car door when opening to a point where maintenance was sometimes needed. One day I had our youngest son with me as we made our way inside the store. The wind was at its usual strength and our son was having trouble walking against it. He had listened intently to his Sunday School teacher’s stories about Jesus. As he recalled one of the most famous of stories, he raised his arms over his head and shouted into the wind….”Peace…Be Still!” In expectation of results, he looked to me in dismay and said, “Mom! It didn’t work!” I responded, “Honey, you’re not Jesus!” A childlike faith learned about the reality of human capabilities compared to the capabilities of our creator.

    Reply
    1. Lancelot Schaubert

      This is great. You know, it’s funny — I actually think that I’ve heard of a charismatic guy doing something similar… but that it worked.

      Then what?

      Reply
  41. Ron Skaggs

    When our son Tyler was going on 5 years old, we had just finished watching “Home Alone”. He absolutely fell in love with the zip line that “Kevin” used from his house to the tree house to escape the “bad guys” chasing him. The next day my wife was horrified to look out the deck door just in time to see Tyler jump off the railing with a rope tied around his waist. We still thank God that the rope was longer than the height of the deck, and the ground was soft enough to cushion his fall. If the rope had been too short we don’t know what internal injuries he might have suffered, and he missed our concrete patio by about two feet. When mom asked Tyler what he was thinking of when he jumped, he matter-of-factly told her “I’m just like Kevin in the movie!!!?” Needless to say Tyler’s guardian angel took some lumps that day!

    Reply
    1. Lancelot Schaubert

      You know, it sounds awful, but I tried something similar. I booby-trapped the warehouse my dad owned with a brick and a trip line. It fell corner-first onto my brother’s head. Could have killed him. I think that moment was the beginning of my hating violence, both in myself and in others. It was an awful, awful thing.

      Learned it from Home Alone.

      Sometimes guys don’t get back up. It’s true.

      Reply
  42. Jordan Thompson

    We’re working hard to give our kids opportunities to learn and do little things that build their creativity. About a year ago we introduced our then 3 and 4 year olds to Mythbusters.

    It was not long after that all my art tape disappeared from my studio, and I found that they had used it to weave a rope and were testing its strength by anchoring one end under a box of floor tile and hoisting each other up the stairwell.

    It was pretty clever for that age, but also terrifying. Their experiments now have to get adult approval.

    The 3 year old also got in trouble for touching a fire extinguisher at church, but avoided consequences by correctly naming every gauge and nozzle on the thing…so…Mythbusters…a show we recommend…sort of.

    Reply
    1. Lancelot Schaubert

      YOOOOO Odyssey of the Mind hard at work, right there

      You ever read Robinson Crusoe? Or see Swiss Family Robinson?

      Myth busters: the great equaliser.

      Reply
  43. Lancelot Schaubert

    We liked JB Ramsey’s story enough to run it as its own piece:

    https://lanceschaubert.org/2023/02/16/the-end-of-the-salad-days/

    Reply
  44. Lelio

    When Gabe was three, he had an innocent fascination with ice cream.

    The ice cream truck would roll into our “circle,” a cul-de-sac of four thirteen-story buildings, playing the ice cream medley (recall the rendition you’re familiar with). We hear the truck from our windows, and see it from our balcony.

    Gabe is third generation in our household, so we had to show him the ropes.

    Step one! State loudly, “the ice cream truck is here!!”

    Step two! Ask for permission. “Can we go get ice cream!?”

    Step three! “yes, get dressed! “Go go go!!” “We don’t want to miss it!”

    After throwing on clothes and shoes, and making sure I have the funds, we dash to catch up with that truck. Sometimes we ran on foot, or he sat on my shoulders as I sprinted. At three it was his kids car, but later it would become his balance bike. When we were ahead of schedule, our pace matched accordingly.

    Eight out of ten times we’d catch the truck. one of ten, we were just hearing things. And one out of ten times, we would have an escapee on our hands, leading to an adventurous chase.

    They don’t take card? Run to the nearest ATM, and meet them in another circle (there are five in our neighborhood). Drove off without seeing us? Which direction are they going? FOLLOW THEM! Hear the truck in another circle while playing? You already know. These were great reasons to keep in shape.

    “Why do I like ice cream?” Gabe asked at least five times from age three to four, half-focused on his ice cream. “It has sugar.” “It’s tasty.” “It’s fun to go for the ice cream truck.” And when appropriate, “you tell me.”

    By four, Gabe is an ice cream connisseur. He orders the blue dip vanilla ice cream with sprinkles.

    Our version of “cheers!” was “Ice cream boyz!!” followed by clicking the two cones together.

    One night Gabe comes home from his mother’s house. He lives in two households, alternating weeks. He was sad the whole ride home into bedtime. I affirmed that it’s okay to feel sad, as that what makes you human. He missed his mom.

    It came up that I was also sad about something. I turn to him with a smirk. “Sad boyz.” he laughs. Some light banter, then we fall asleep.

    More recently, Gabe and I head to a 7-Eleven after a trip to the Brooklyn Children’s Museum. Free admission with a benefits ID, by the way. I had a $5 budget, which I quickly regretted once I saw the foods available. The pizza was indiscernable as food. The “fajita roll” I ate, I won’t forget any time soon—unfortunately.

    This was the food I offered to myself and my son. But we were both hungry. When we sat and ate on the subway ride home, he asked about the food’s quality. I answered honestly. “It’s cheap food,” “it’s gas station food,” “it’s not great.”

    Gabriel thinks silently. After a while, his face lights up. He moseys over to me as safely as you can on a moving train. With a glimmer in his eyes, he moves to whisper in my ear.

    “Gas station boyz.”

    Reply
  45. Darlene Fetterman

    Well to begin with, my mother and father got married on October 24, 1953. I was born on September 17, 1954. So you could say that the honeymoon was over. As my mother didn’t want me so soon, so our relationship sucked from the begining(she had me cleaning the whole house when i was 3 yrs old). When her mother found out she flipped out and told her it stops now. She tried to convinced her mother and my father, that I kept saying me do(clean) mommy. It didn’t stop, It only got worse as time went on. She fell down the stairs at my school when I was in 6th grade. Of course it was bad and when I was 15 it was really bad the she had to have surgery. I was in 9th grade and I had to leave school to take care of her. My teachers gave me all my schoolwork to do at home m e my friend would brings me my homework and take the finished homework in the next day. I did that for 3 1/2 months. It was sheer hell. She faked that she was so sick that I could go to my graduation. I was going to the store with my father and I had been crying and he wanted to know what was wrong. I said I was going to run away. He sat there in silence, finally he said you can’t I will miss you too much. So he tried to make my life better. It was just knowing that he wanted me to stay…. sorry this was so long and I know that my sentences were mostly run on. There is so much more bad that happened especially her causing him to leave. Then he died because of a terrible car accident. I blame her for his death, because if she had been a good wife and mother he never would have left us. I then up and left her also. Sorry I just had to add this last part. Have a nice weekend. Stay well.
    Darlene

    darlasllvn@gmail.com

    Reply
    1. Lancelot Schaubert

      Wow that’s super hard, Darlene. Thank you for sharing with me / us — it’s a gift. You’re more than welcome to tell more. Do you feel like any of it has mended in your heart? It certainly sounds sore, my goodness.

      Reply



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