To whom it may concern:

I am hereby officially tendering my
resignation as an adult,
in order to accept the
responsibilities of a 6-year-old.

The tax base is lower.

I want to be six again.


I want to go to McDonald's and think it's
the best place in the world to eat.

I want to sail sticks across a fresh mud puddle
and make waves with rocks.

I want to think M&Ms are better than money,
because you can eat them.

I want to play kickball during recess and stay up on
Christmas Eve waiting to hear Santa and Rudolph on the roof.

I long for the days when life was simple.
When all you knew were your colors, the addition tables,
and simple nursery rhymes, but it didn't bother you,
because you didn't know what you didn't know,
and you didn't care.

I want to go to school and have snack time,
recess, gym and field trips.

I want to be happy, because
I don't know what should make me upset.

I want to think the world is fair
and everyone in it is honest and good.

I want to believe that anything is possible.

Sometime, while I was maturing, I learned too much.
I learned of nuclear weapons, prejudice,
starving and abused kids, lies, unhappy
marriages, illness, pain, and mortality.

I want to be six again.

I want to think that everyone, including myself,
will live forever, because I don't know
the concept of death.

I want to be oblivious to the complexity of life
and be overly excited by the little things again.

I want television to be something I watch for fun,
not something used for escape from
the things I should be doing.

I want to live knowing the little things
that I find exciting will always make me as happy
as when I first learned them.

I want to be six again.

I remember not seeing the world as a whole,
but rather being aware of only the things
that directly concerned me.

I want to be naive enough to think that if I'm happy,
so is everyone else.

I want to walk down the beach and
think only of the sand beneath my feet
and the possibility of finding that
blue piece of sea glass I'm looking for.

I want to spend my afternoons climbing trees
and riding my bike, letting the grownups worry
about time, the dentist,
and how to find the money to fix the car.

I want to wonder what I'll do when I grow up
and what I'll be, and who I'll be, and not worry
about what I'll do if this doesn't work out.
I want that time back.

I want to use it now as an escape, so that
when my computer crashes, or I have a mountain
of paperwork, or two depressed friends,
or a fight with my spouse,
or bittersweet memories of times gone by,
or second thoughts about so many things,
I can travel back and build a snowman,
without thinking about anything except
whether the snow sticks together and what
I can possibly use for the snowman's mouth.

I want to be six again.

- author unknown -



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