Do you believe in the Boogie Man? Do you think there’s such a thing as the Easter Bunny? How about broccoli: that’s got to be miniature trees, right? Well, I don’t believe in any of that stuff, at least not anymore.
At the age of seventeen I’ve come to realize something wonderful––I believe in three-year-olds.
In May of 2003 my cousin was born, and soon after, I began to baby-sit her. She’s quite the character. Sidney can smile and sing her ABC’s, run around the entire house faster than a speeding bullet, and give reasons for having to eat candy before supper. From her time in the womb to her three years in the world, Sidney’s personality has been growing each and every day. She never worries about what taxpayers’ money is spent on or which motor will give a car the best air intake. Rather, she wants to know “Wussat?” and “Why?”. She can rely on her innocent eyes and tiny dimples to get her out of trouble. Her life is perfect. She’s independent from the world and all its sufferings. Her never-ending hugs always keep me smiling.
To me, there’s something magical about three-year-olds. They appear to be angels, or free spirits if you will. They’re full of Energizer Bunny energy and a constant hunger for knowledge. Three-year-olds say what they feel and repeat everything they hear without fear mommy later putting them in time out if they tell. For a three-year-old, life’s troubles extend only as far as the eye can see, which is about as far as the nearest grocery store. The world revolves around cartoons, cookies, and a nighttime teddy to cuddle with.
All in all, three-year-olds remind me how much I loved my childhood. Back when I was three, I was the happiest and most independent kid. My mother always tells me, “You were curious, very curious, about everything, and it didn’t matter what kind of answer you got as long as you got one!”
At seventeen I’m just entering adulthood, and quite frankly that fact scares me. I know that I’ll have to be responsible for myself and maintain a job in order to pay bills. Every morning when I turn on the TV the news will flood my brain with reports of terrorist attacks in New York City or who wants to be my next president. I believe in three year olds simply for the fact that I used to be one. I can’t remember a day at that age when life was a struggle, or when learning more about the world turned me away. One thing in life that I can count on is a three year old to tell me the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth. I can count on for three-year-olds to be free from worry and always be wearing an innocent smile, and so this I believe.
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