The Name Is Not Important

I Love This Child. Red-haired - Patient And Gentle Like Her Mother - Fey And Funny Like Her Father. When She Giggles I Can Hear Him When He And I Were Young. I Am Part Of This Child. It May Be Only Because We Share Genes And That Therefore Smell Familiar To Each Other.... It May Be That A Part Of Me Lives In Her In Some Important Way.... But For Now, It's Jelly Beans And 'old Macdonald' That Unite Us.

All I Really Need To Know About How To Live And What To Do And How To Be, I Learned In Kindergarten. Wisdom Was Not At The Top Of The Graduate-school Mountain, But There In The Sand Pile At Sunday School.

Love Is The Grand Prize And The Garbage Heap. Love Is A Spiritual Root Canal And The Only Thing That Makes Life Worth Living. Love Is A Little Taste Of Always And A Big Bite Of Nothing. And Love Is Everything In Between These Extremes.

Maybe We Should Develop A Crayola Bomb As Our Next Secret Weapon. A Happiness Weapon. A Beauty Bomb. And Every Time A Crisis Developed, We Would Launch One. And People Would Smile And Get A Little Funny Look On Their Faces And Cover The World With Imagination.

It's Just This: That There Are Places We All Come From-deep-rooty-common Places- That Makes Us Who We Are. And We Disdain Them Or Treat Them Lightly At Our Peril. We Turn Our Backs On Them At The Risk Of Self-contempt. There Is A Sense In Which We Need To Go Home Again-and Can Go Home Again. Not To Recover Home, No. But To Sanctify Memory.