Little Boy World Poem by Chris G. Vaillancourt

We were children. That day, sitting in the backseat of the car
as our father drove in his confidant way. My sister and I played the

'He's touching me, she's touching me' game. 'Don't make me stop this car! '
my dad would proclaim. This would silence us for a few minutes,

long enough to listen to the latest pop song blasting from
the car radio. An innocent world of ambitions and hoping to stay up late.

I couldn't imagine the zipping of time and how it would rush like wildfire when
I became a man. Sundays would find us dressed in our 'church clothes'.

Me in my little green suit with the clip-on bow-tie. My sister in her
little girl dress and hat. White shoes and socks to match. Mom giving us each a

dime to put in the collection plate. At church putting on my altar boy robes,
wondering how I could manage to keep the dime to buy a chocolate bar.

Would God strike me dead for such thoughts? He never seemed to do so, but then
again I never kept the dime. Little boys are consistent in their little boy world.

When I look back at those seemingly untroubled times, I can only imagine the
sucking of the straw that would break the camels back. I can only see the black

and white television set and not knowing that there could be a world of colours.
It's dangerous to pretend to be what one is not. They do not want you to think,

they want you to grow up controlled. To fit in and be one of the 'regular' guys.
Watch sports on television and putter around the house. Vote for the right political

party and drink the correct sort of beer. Wear the appropriate uniform of conformity
and despair. Get a job that pays just enough to satisfy your basic needs. Your

biggest concern being to pay for the house and the new car you are required to buy.
Is it any wonder that the streets are filled with wounded eyes hiding

behind mirrored glasses? Little boys never really grow up. They adopt
a man's body and retain a fear of being seen as human. They pretend..