I love how honest children are.
They don't even have to say a word.
I was recently sitting at uni waiting for a friend to pick me up, when a conga line of awkward looking toddlers began flooding out of Robert Blackwell Hall. They each had their mothers by their sides, who looked as if they were enjoying themselves a bit too much. Trailing behind, of course, was the occasional lethargic and somewhat despondent looking father.
Maybe it was just the effect seeing Hi5 had on them, or maybe I am just an odd looking bastard, but every child that walked past me would systematically stare me down as if my nose was on backwards and I had the tail of a cat for an eye. They would spot me as they approach, and their little mouths would drop slightly, slowly falling lower and lower with each step they took towards me. It was as if they were only discovering what they initially thought was shocking when they first spotted me was increasing exponentially.
Not only that, they would turn their little heads once they had passed, as if to make sure that it is really real, and that I hadn't starting throwing up disco balls made of elephant skin without them realising. They would stumble, lose their footing and float inches off the ground for half a second or so while their mother straightened them back up.
I really got a kick out of watching those kids walk past.
And I really appreciated their honesty.
If we didn't learn how to hide what we think and how we feel, perhaps the world would make more sense, and...
Perhaps I'd make more sense.
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