Between the innocence of babyhood and the dignity of manhood, we find a delightful creature called a boy. Boys come in assorted sizes, weights and colors, but all boys have the same creed: to enjoy every second of every minute of every hour of every day and to protest with noise (their only weapon) when their last minute is finished and the adults pack them off to bed at night.
A boy is Truth with dirt on his face. Beauty with a cut on its finger, Wisdom with bubble gum in its hair and Hope of the future with a frog in its pocket.
A boy is a composite---he has the appetite of a horse, the digestion of a sword swallower, the energy of a pocket-size atomic bomb, the curiosity of a cat, the lungs of a dictator, the imagination of a Paul Bunyan, the shyness of a violet, the audacity of a steel trap, the enthusiasm of a fire cracker, and when he makes something he has five thumbs on each hand.
None else is so early to rise or so late to supper. Nobody else gets so much fun out of trees, dogs and breezes. Nobody else can cram in one pocket-a half eaten apple, three feet of string, two gum drops, six cents, a sling shot, a chunk of unknown substance and a genuine supersonic ring with a secret compartment.
A boy is a magical creature---you can lock him out of your kitchen, but you can't lock him out of your heart. You can get him out of your study, but not out of your mind.
