At 8

At eight years old, I wanted to own a Wilson A2000 baseball glove, hit a ball over the left field wall and run the bases at record pace. I was sure I would play some day in Yankee Stadium. I wanted to ride in my brother's fast electric blue car and listen to the White Album. I wanted to stay up well past sunset and leave the radio on all night. At eight, dreams had no limitations and barriers were things on the road. Childhood was about life without boundaries and goals without ceilings.

Tonight, I arrived home and this was on the table. A precious face hovered over it and asked "Dad, did you see this?" "Yes, it is wonderful." Weeks had led up to this evening. Parental notices had been conveyed: difficult, practice, devotion, and the like. Matter not these words tonight. On the table sat a beautiful instrument and, above it, a perfect vision of a highly anticipated dream. She was not limiting her world, why should I?

We all need to be eight again.

See the engraving in large

The Eight Year Old "Virtuoso"