Oh, to be a Chinaman, wished Francie, and have such a pretty toy to count on; oh, to eat all the lichee nuts she wanted and to know the mystery of the iron that was ever hot and yet never stood on a stove. Oh, to paint those symbols with a slight brush and a quick turn of the wrist and to make a clear black mark as fragile as a piece of a butterfly wing! That was the mystery of the Orient in Brooklyn.I loved this when I read it because it reminds me how Jerry says he wants to be a forklift driver when he grows up. In his mind, the forklift must be such an exciting thing! And what could he have been thinking about that "catertiller" [sic] he was examining today? And the way he sits and looks at books and reads them aloud even though he does not know how to read? He amazes me daily.
Thursday, April 21, 2005
the mind of a child
From A Tree Grows in Brooklyn by Betty Smith:
Posted by Mandy at 9:21 PM