Childhood: Our Touchstone for Wonder

[This article first appeared in the September/October 2024 issue of Writer's Digest magazine.]

When spring came, the kids in my neighborhood trooped out to the five-and-dime and bought kite kits. Flimsy paper, balsa wood struts, no instructions, $0.15. We’d run home to put the kites together and hopefully swipe a ball of string from the junk drawer.

My dad would notice what I was doing and insist that I attach a tail to my kite. The only stuff available was torn strips of rags, knotted together. Ugly! I was the odd kid out, carrying my kite to the playground with the rag tail looped over my arm.

But when we started running to get our kites in the air, well, guess whose went up and up, while those of my pals rose a little, then spun out and crashed.

I marveled at my dad’s genius. Moreover, the wonder I felt holding that taut string, watching the kite trade wisecracks with the wind all afternoon—what a thrill!

Then I grew up and left kites behind.

You too? Why?

We’re all busy with adult life. What a sorry excuse! Are we all jaded? Exhausted? Overfed with instant media and the shallow dopamine hits we get from it?

Yeah, maybe. But as writers, we can’t afford that.

No matter what you’re writing, getting in touch with Little You—that unpolluted brain, that frank curiosity!—can refresh your spirit and spark new ideas. You know it’s true.

Rediscovering wonder is about being open, banishing cynicism and sarcasm. It’s about allowing ourselves to be innocent again; it’s about scraping off the armor we’ve accumulated without really knowing it.

The elements of wonder, as a kid might see it, are newness, beauty, courage, grace, dignity. What else might Little You add?

I might note that although childhoods filled with sunshine and candy can be great compost for a writer, so can unhappy ones. More so, perhaps, which is some cold comfort.

Let’s take time now to slow down, go deep—and go back. Then let’s write some new stuff.

As a kid, you had all the time in the world. You could spend one minute or half an hour watching ants fight or studying the whorls on your finger pads. You could sit and think about the scolding you just got. You could hide somewhere and cry over that scolding, or over a broken toy or lost treasure. Remember.

Only someone who has never reared children or been a babysitter could think children are born good. At times we were idiotic little monsters. Everybody needs to learn manners, how to share, how to win and lose, when to tell the full truth and when to fudge it. When to hit back and when to run away, how to talk to grownups. So much of childhood is about learning. The wonders of the world!

What charmed you as a kid? (The original meaning of charmed was “entranced” or “transfixed.”) Indulge in remembering your favorites. Food. Toy. Article of clothing. (I was crushed to be told I couldn’t accessorize my lovely red sneakers with my First Communion dress.) Friend. Cousin. Teacher. Subject in school. Now, same list, but least favorites. Oh, yeah. There’s some stuff there.

Maybe you worked as a kid. Did chores, helped with a family business, babysat, delivered papers. That’s rather grownup stuff, but you saw it through your kid eyes. Remember what that was like.

What led you to realize that while grownups can make some problems go away, they can’t fix everything? If you pulled the trigger on the BB gun and shot your brother’s butt cheek, that act cannot be undone. He, at least, will remember it for a long time.

I bet you can recall the first time you got away with something. Maybe you slipped a piece of candy into your pocket at the store, or cheated on a quiz, or sneaked out at night. You did it, heart in your mouth, and you got away with it. Incredible! What was that like?

For kids, the wonder of nature is powerful. The first time you saw kittens being born, or an eclipse, or mountains or the ocean—you remember. The taste of a clover stem, the sting of a bee. What else in the natural world sparked your awe? The howl of coyotes, the night call of a loon, the scream of a mountain lion. The smell of magnolias or jasmine or rosemary, incense at a shrine.

Other interesting smells! Popcorn at the movie theater. Rain coming. A paper lunch sack. A grape-jelly sandwich. Stale beer after the grownups’ party.

Remember physical sensations. You used to lie on your back in the grass and look at the clouds. How did the ground feel, there, through your shirt?

Hanging upside-down from the monkey bars.

Scraped knees, elbows.

Mosquito bites.

Getting a splinter in your finger or foot. (The feeling, plus the bleak awareness that it’s gonna have to come out somehow …)

Sitting on a hot curbstone to eat a popsicle.

Holding a grass blade firmly between your thumbs so you can blow through it and make noise.

Prime the pump. What things did you do as a kid that you don’t do as an adult? Skating, dancing, cycling, running, skipping, crawling, jumping off things, kicking through piles of autumn leaves? Well, do a few!

Although kids can get anxious, in general, they don’t self-censor much. Not that they’re always easy to impress! But they’re open to the wonder of any sort of creation. That’s what we’re after here.

Identify Little You at different, specific points in your life that were memorable to you. Start a story there. Shoot for 200+ words at first sitting. Short is OK! Focus on detail and feelings.

Sample ideas:

If you’re having any trouble, start smaller: Write a description of your bedroom as it was when you were 10, or 5, or 13. Give context: what’s the story behind one or another element of the room? Take a tale from there.

Then go farther:

After all this, sit and think for a while. What’s a story you’ve always wanted to write but didn’t know it until now? A coherent answer—or five!—should come up.

As I was gathering my thoughts to write this piece, I wanted to show how grownups can grab hold of a piece of childhood and expand on it, make it even more wonderful. I went out for my afternoon walk and to my surprise spotted in the distance a couple of kites, way high up, far away. I increased my pace, and traced the kites to a sport field.

Two middle-aged men were sitting in camp chairs, watching their kites, which were tethered to iron stakes they’d augured into the ground. Neither man had a phone in his hand. I said hello and asked them about their kites. Without hesitation they launched into a full explanation of their large, beautiful flying sculptures.

One kite was fashioned to look like a bald eagle, and the other was a 10-foot-wide parafoil from which extended a skein of shocking-pink flamingo kites. The flamingo man invited me to take hold of the braided line and feel the weight of the pull, warning me to be careful of my bare hands. Impressive! They’d built their kites and were testing them, putting on heavy leather gloves when they needed to handle the lines, so tight and alive.

These guys talked unhurriedly about upcoming kite festivals and competitions. They told me about a special shop in the area, owned by kite fanatics who’d been all over the world flying custom-made kites in competitions and for fun. They talked about flying kites on beaches, from rooftops, in open spaces like this one. They talked about fighting kites, a subculture unto itself.

I guess these guys must have had regular jobs, but I didn’t think to ask.

The point is: They’d figured it out!

Kids, especially the younger ones, don’t dwell in their heads all that much. Your mission, when stuck or in need of inspiration—or simply a different way of thinking about something—is to stop the mental chatter. Do it by adopting the openness of Little You: a child always ready to view the world without filters, ready to take it for what it is.

Because adulthood changes our thinking. As a youngster, you stood at the window and watched a huge storm overflow the gutters and send the neighbor’s honeysuckle arbor crashing into your garage.

“Wow!” you said.

“Oh, shit!” your parents said.

A great trick is to be able to inhabit either perspective at will. I think you can do it!

What moves you to wonder now?

What would move you if you let it?

Is there a place to fly a kite near you? Let’s go!

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