Anonymous
After a male baby has grown out of long clothes
and triangles and has acquired pants, freckles, and so much dirt that
relatives do not dare to kiss it between meals, it becomes a boy. A boy
is nature's answer to that false belief that there is no such thing as
perpetual motion. A boy can swim like a fish, run like a deer, climb
like a squirrel, balk like a mule, bellow like a bull, eat like a pig, or
act like a jackass, according to climatic conditions.
He
is a piece of skin stretched over an appetite. A noise covered with
smudges. He is called a tornado because he comes at the most unexpected
times, hits the most unexpected places and leaves everything a wreck
behind him. He is a growing animal of superlative promise, to be fed,
watered and kept warm, a joy forever, a periodic nuisance, the problem
of our times, the hope of a nation.
Every boy born is evidence that God is not discouraged with man. Were it
not for boys, the newspapers would go unread and a thousand picture
shows would go bankrupt. Boys are useful in running errands. A boy can
easily do the family errands with the aid of five or six adults. The zest
with which a boy does an errand is equaled only by the speed of a turtle
on a July day. The boy is a natural spectator. He watches parades,
fires, fights, ball games, automobiles, boats and airplanes with equal
fervor, but will not watch the clock. The man who invents a clock that
will stand on its head and sing a song when it strikes will win the
undying gratitude of millions of families whose boys are forever coming
to dinner about supper time.
Boys faithfully imitate their dads
in spite of all efforts to teach them good manners. A boy, if not washed
too often, and if kept in a cool, quiet place after each accident, will
survive broken bones, hornets, swimming holes, fights, and nine helpings
of pie.
