Last night gave me one of those poignant moments we don't forget. My seven-year-old niece, the undisputed diva of the entire first grade, had a sleepover at my house last night. She likes hanging out in my home office. I keep personalized notepads on hand for her and let her play with my pencil sharpeners, so this is big stuff for a little girl. She plays in my file cabinets too -- which might explain a few missing pieces of paper, come to think of it.
So last night, she's draped across my office chair with her feet up on my bookcase, holding her notepad and staring at the ceiling while she chewed on her pencil. Then she heaves a great sigh and says, "Sometimes I don't know what to write. I just know that I have to write it."
Yeah. She really said that. And then she wrote this poem. Is my judgment clouded by familial pride, or is this pretty darn good for a seven-year-old?
Aww, sniff sniff. What insight! What style! What spelling!