Oh the wandering mind, with its day-dreams, nightmares, reminiscences and ponderings, taking us through imagined kingdoms, into dens of inequity, antiquity and occasionally depravity; how often it seems to grab and tear the innocent brain-owner away from firm reality to wonder about the effectiveness of the pogo-stick as a getaway vehicle or the attractiveness of Miss Piggy as a paramour.

We think about our past excursions into uncharted waters; the first kiss, the first time behind the wheel, the first auto accident, the first time dad took the keys away and told us to get glasses or we’d never drive again. All of these thoughts flooding through in salience to drown out prosperous activity. They keep us from moving the economy forward, slow down our out-production of the competitor, and make it so the opposition can get the upper hand and out-quaff us at every imprudent juncture.

But isn’t daydreaming fun?

It’s almost as if it were built into us to calm us and help us get through the day besought with toil, argument, war, zealotry, high taxes and the constant discomfort brought on by the terror alert system.

It all starts in youth, of course. As little boys and girls we play princess and soldier, or cops and robbers. I recall a time when my life’s ambition was to replace Superman when he retired (with the back-up plan of becoming a payload specialist on the space shuttle Pathfinder).

No memories stick out more about childhood then the endless games of make believe. Sunny days were always spent running between neighborhood houses, ducking behind juniper bushes, using sticks as pistols and bath towels from mom’s linen closet in substitute of cape and cowl. Little brothers were always the villains or the ones who had to play dead. Little sisters were either the damsels in distress or the evil dragon queens.

Growing up, it gets harder to play at anything. After age 12 people begin to expect you to “know better” and “act your age.” Imaginary friends are discouraged, then ignored, then erased with monthly checks to the children’s psychiatrist. Growing up means growing out of certain delicacies. Cap’n Crunch and fruit cups are replaced by colon-friendly Oat Bran and heart friendly Oat n’ Honey granola bars. Why is it after a certain birthday we feel a need to subsist on horse food?

But children seem to have more on us. They seem happier much more of the time. The back seats of cars across America only seem to know tears when knees are scabbed or ice cream is deliberately withheld as punishment for churlishness. Five-year-olds don’t complain about missed deadlines. They splash in the spilled milk instead of gripe about cleaning it up. They are not concerned with eco-friendly cars or biodegradable underwear.

What’s a carbon foot print? Children don’t know or care.

All they want is to smile and laugh as often as possible. There is nothing larger to them than family and friends, nothing more important than the moments in which they live. Kids don’t plan and it never proves an obstacle to them.

The wondering minds are carefree things. We, the adults, seem to discourage them so much amongst ourselves that we darken others. We are zombies, working hard to solve the world’s problems through action, invention and discovery. We worry so much about tomorrow while outside our children play in the sunshine that is slowly giving them skin cancer, splashing in puddles of bacteria-infested water that might lure mosquitoes carrying the deadly West Nile virus. Do they seem petrified with fear?

I guess growing up is a curse all around. Ignorance truly does seem blissful when watching children at play. With the wisdom of age comes nothing but headaches, backaches, heartaches and the increased risk of unwanted pregnancy, venereal disease, and ending up in a meaningless job that drives you up the wall until one day you snap and nearly give Jeanie in accounting a heart attack.

Stay loose, kids. Tag! You’re it.

Smith is a Rose Hill graduate student in English.