At four, I spent the hour I was supposed to be napping singing with the choirs of heaven. You cannot go wrong spending an hour in the middle of the day just worshipping the Creator of the Universe. So why don’t we?
At four I knew the best way to get anywhere in life was to either strap on the roller skates or skip high and long. So I did. I was either roller-skating (my knees still have the scars to prove it) or I was skipping (flying) around the neighborhood.
At four, I knew if you were going to sing, you should sing loud. So, I would get on the neighbor’s swingset (just across the alley at Sister Klug’s house) and sing so loud I could be heard far and wide, city blocks couldn’t contain the volume.
At four, I couldn’t spell much, but I could spell The B-I-B-L-E, yes that’s the book for me, and Oh, you can’t get to heaven without S-A-L-V-A-T-I-O-N. If I’d never gone further, would I have really needed to?
When I was four, my brother Joey was my first and most lasting BFF and sibling-soul-mate. I totally had the Joey-Joey-Joey-Joey down in my heart. I still do, actually.
My mom was the center of my universe. My dad was the focus of our adoration. We chased (and sometimes caught) lightening bugs and splashed in a blow-up wading pool. Our dog chased cats away and the milkman delivered fresh to our door daily. We were up with the sun and went to sleep listening to records on the Hi-Fi.
I knew everything about anything that was fit to know about the universe when I was four. *sigh* I used to be so smart.