I have these three little kids that come to the gym every week with their Mom. All boys, they always smell like sunshine, dirt and puppies. They remind me of the Lost Boys of Neverland - ever ready for action and adventure. Energy and excitement flow from the streaked and painted faces (they love face paint - seriously) and they always have a new story of some far flung adventure that makes me stop whatever I am doing and just gasp and listen in horror and wait to see if this will be yet another occasion of one of them extracting some unknown artifact or exoskeleton from his pocket. These kids make me smile and laugh. In their sixes and sevens they remind me of how outrageously exciting life was at one point and of the simplicity of learning all you need to know - and actually anything you deem worthy or learning- by digging under dirt, inhaling fresh air and having a good story.
Somehow getting dirty was just part of getting a good story, even though you might not have know it at the time.
I miss the stories. We should bring more of them back. Tall tales, surprising adventures, love lost, bravery found. There was a time when a good story was worth putting everything down and sitting sticky fingered, sticky haired down to listen with eyes wide open.