The American poet Paul Brady, a long-time Kyoto resident, once wrote: “We spend our entire life searching for the treasures we were born with.”
Nine years ago, thirteen grammar school kids (a baker’s dozen) came to tour Papa Jon’s kitchen—thirteen wonders of childhood. First, they filed into the upstairs office. They were cautious and polite, each starched into the invisible uniform of good behavior, as they introduced themselves,
After a pause and a few words—then a heartbeat or two, maybe three—those coats slipped away. The curtain lifted. And color flooded the room. The shy one, the clown, the serious, the silly—each suddenly, unmistakably, themselves.
A child’s exuberance won’t suffer shackles for long
These kids were treasures.
Maybe hidden.
Maybe denied.
But never gone.
I’m grateful for those rare moments that drop me squarely into NOW.
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