It's difficult to explain, but sometimes I feel like I am about seven years old. Childish? Hopefully infrequently, but more childlike, I think. Childlike in that I am curiously still full of wonder; questioning a plethora of things which so many others take for granted or are simply too busy (and adult?) to think about any longer. Childlike in my optimism (can you believe that?) and the sheer joy and pleasure I derive from the simple, and the BEST, things in life.
Security? Yes. I crave it at about the same rate as any other human being. But I do feel a certain amount of security, but a different, mature, independent security of my own making and not the security felt by a seven year old boy in a happy, for all intent and purpose, home with 'not a care in the world'. But at seven, why in hell should there be a care in the world? At fifty three, I would have to live in a hole to not have a care in the world.
The security I possess no longer comes from reliance upon a mysterious, unseen being or the promise of a nebulous, supernatural, post-death existence. It also most certainly does not originate from my own tiny little glob of gray matter. The king's portion of the security that I experience comes from my very own immediate family; my wife and three sons. And I don't mean that they exhibit a 'Ward Cleaver' authority and confidence to my sniveling, helpless child-man. What they DO each provide is a real, dependable, loving, appreciative, challenging human presence which elevates, fortifies, inspires, puzzles (and sometimes angers) me on a regular basis. This security seems to hit the spot for a mature (and again, I mean physically) adult male in 21st century America. . . me.
ANOTHER SHOT by Ray Jozwiak (that's me!)
