I have an interesting job. Throughout the course of my week/month/year, I visit board rooms and bedrooms, classrooms and hospital rooms; I am attendant at weddings and funerals, at births and deaths; my presence (and the reason for it) is necessary for a multitude of events, the depth and breadth of which is sometimes only an inch deep but is more than a mile wide.
One of my favorite things about my job is that I often get to work with people who say what they really think.
When those people doing the ‘saying what they think’ are children, it often tickles my funny bone.
As, yesterday, was the case:
My young client, carefully collecting large yellow leaves from the ground, asked of the therapist I was working with: Why are these leaves all beautiful and yellow but that one — she pointed to a brown, withered leaf — is all crunchy?
The therapist thought for a moment and then answered, “Well, maybe that crunchy leaf is old.”
To which my young charge responded: …OH. Well, that makes sense. I mean, old people are crunchy too.
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