Kids Say the Profoundest Things

I don't know about you, but I love listening to kids talk. They are funny, obnoxious, ornery and, at times, profound. The words that fall out of their mouths are true gems.
One time, my wife Patti and I were having dinner in a restaurant with our 10-year-old, John. This restaurant had a piano bar. John had just come from a piano recital, a fact we casually mentioned to the waitress.
A few minutes later, she came back to our table with an announcement.
"We took a vote, and we'd like your son to play the piano for us," she said.
Patti and I looked at each other and at John, who just sat there and shrugged. We decided it would be OK for him to play a song or two in the bar.
He sat down and played a few songs, even accompanying the crowd in a chorus of "Happy Birthday" for one of the patrons.
When he finished, he collected his tips -- $3 for five minutes of work -- and we headed back to our table.
When we sat down, Patti and I congratulated John on his first "real" public performance.
"But you can't tell anyone about me playing in a bar," he said.
"Why would that be?" I asked.
"Because -- you'll ruin my reputation," he insisted.
Another time, I was driving a van load of kids past a farm during harvest. Combines were crisscrossing the field as we drove down the road.
One of the kids chirped, "When I grow up, I want a combine, too."
"Oh? That's nice," I told him.
"Yeah! I want a combine -- a jet-powered combine!" he said.
"That'd sure get harvest done fast," I said. "And you could burn your fields at the same time."
Still other times, kids manage to find a deeper meaning in even the saddest events.
Some years ago, a sister-in-law died after a long illness. She was more than an in-law; she had actually introduced me to her sister, who would become my wife. She had been a friend and had always provided Patti and me with a bushel basket of good advice and common sense about all sorts of topics.
When I heard the tragic news, I was devastated. I sat at the kitchen table, inconsolable. Our oldest son, Paul, was 5 years old at the time. He sat down across the table from me, studying me.
"Dad, what's wrong?" he asked.
"Oh, Paul, I'm just sad," I said. "Your aunt died today."
He was silent for a while.
"Dad, you know the doctors tried their best to help her," he said.
"Yes, Paul, I'm sure they did," I responded.
"And you know she'll always live in your heart," he added.
I was stunned, and I realized the wisdom that can only come from a 5-year-old.
"Yes, Paul, you're right," I said. "She will always live in my heart."
This spring was our youngest son's first communion. For Catholics, it's a milestone, when a child participates in the most important part of a mass.
First communion is also a time when kids dress up. The boys wear ties and sports jackets. Some even wear tuxedos for the occasion. The girls look beautiful in their white dresses.
Through all of the ritual, I wondered if our son Mark understood what he was participating in. Patti and I followed him up to the priest and back to the pew. We sat down, and he was beaming.
Then, he leaned over to me and whispered, "That's good stuff."
"Yes," I told him. "It is good stuff."