About a year ago I was playing with my nephew Emmett. 3 years old, blond hair, blue eyes and the sweetest smile you've ever seen. We were playing with a playmobil set on the floor in my brother's family room. There were knights, cannons, horses, kings, dragons, battle axes, swords, spears and helmets scattered all around as we engaged in an epic battle that rivaled those of the Trojan War. There were heroes on both sides and the tide of the struggle ebbed and flowed evenly, but every once in a while one of his soldiers would miraculously gain the power of flight and knock down all my defenses in one fell swoop. After about a half hour of drama, courage, self-sacrifice and brief respites from the action to drink our respective beer and juice Emmett set his playmobile knight and horse on the ground, put his tiny hand on my shoulder and smiled a curious, thoughtful smile; the kind you would expect Shakespeare to wear as he wrote the last line of one of his sonnets.
"Uncle Jack," he said softly. "Why camels?"
That was it. There was no follow up. No additional clauses to the question. There were absolutely no camels in sight. It was simply a thought that came from Emmett's wonderful little brain, and he took it as seriously as any one of you takes questions involving how to balance the contemplative life with the active. So, naturally, I did too. Why camels?
The only answer I have come up with so far is this.
Why not camels?
-Jack
"Uncle Jack," he said softly. "Why camels?"
That was it. There was no follow up. No additional clauses to the question. There were absolutely no camels in sight. It was simply a thought that came from Emmett's wonderful little brain, and he took it as seriously as any one of you takes questions involving how to balance the contemplative life with the active. So, naturally, I did too. Why camels?
The only answer I have come up with so far is this.
Why not camels?
-Jack
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