As anyone who is young, I dream of things that cannot be. Of palaces, princes, and faraway places. My friends and I will play at this. Our imaginations are so powerful that the shade of a tree becomes my palace, and my friends, knights who will valiantly serve me, their prince.

As we grow older, we loose the tools which so efficiently built our palace. Now we use a hammer and nails, though our vivid imaginations still provide the rich tapestries and magnificent furnishings which are hidden away inside the walls.

Still, I continue to grow. In becoming a man, I must put aside childish dreams. I no longer play. My friends have gone away. There is no wonder in the shade of a tree, nor any glory within the walls of a fort. I live in the real world. Always busy. Too busy to become one of my own heros for a day. I couldn't any way I have no heros. Loyalty and courage are just words which have lost their meanings.

My grandson wants to build a fort now. How do I tell him to stay in the shade of a tree? How do I tell him . . . don't grow up . . . like me.

Graphics by Moriah's Web Jewels
©1981 Karen A. Freeman