DEAR YOUTH,

Tonight while I listened to a sixth grade band concert and I saw the youth which resides in my son, I knew I must write you, Dear Youth, on my behalf and talk to you as an old lost friend. You no longer live in me, in these muscles of mine which ache after throwing a football.

A playwright named you a sweet bird. And I picture you now soaring above me against a cloudless blue sky. But closer to home, I watched you tonight in the form of a girl with a loose curl dangling down her cheek who delighted in playing her violin. I watched as you played percussion with my son, banging the tambourine against his young leg. I recognized you in so many faces that giggled and created mischief.

It thrills me to see you so alive and well in so many children. For me it’s time to let you fly while I watch you act from where I sit, motionless, on my rather hard seat.