The Young Poet

My son told his mother he was going to be a poet.  He explained how he was going to grow a goatee, wear his glasses, and always have his notebook handy for the writing.  I cannot confirm whether or not he intends to drape himself all in black; however, his current favorite jeans to wear are indeed black.  The boy is seven.

Now I thought this was a fantastic idea, other than the whole, “how-do-you-expect-to-make-a-living-from-the-humanities-in-the-21st-century” problem.  And this doesn’t come as a total surprise:  the boy likes Shel Silverstein and has had those books read to him and re-read them several times.  Like many, he was reared on Dr. Seus.

Also, he just likes words.  The telling of jokes, an early affinity for basics puns, etc.  We consider this a good sign.  His older sister has had a hand in this as well, having written (an illustrated) several stories for him and setting an excellent example as a constant reader. Continue reading