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When my mom died in August of '96, my siblings and I went through the unpleasant task of dividing up my mother's possessions.
In the bottom of her dresser drawer we discovered my first-grade journal. Being a child prodigy, I naturally assumed this scratch pad would soon unveil the secrets of the universe, the cure for AIDS and the map to Saddam's weapons of mass destruction.
No such luck.
Instead, I discovered that Mother Nature is a source of pollution, small people are grossly under-utilized and so long as you feel good inside, it doesn't matter if the world around you is crumbling.
Face it: Kids just scribble on paper. It isn't any deeper than that. Adults make it mean more. To a kid, well, he was just burning an hour until it was time to roll around in the dirt somewhere. Enjoy!
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