juvenilia
[joo-vuh-nil-ee-uh, -nil-yuh]
1. works, especially writings, produced in one's youth:
His juvenilia were more successful than his mature writings.
2. literary or artistic productions suitable or designed for the young:
publishers of juvenilia.
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Jill rushed into the living room where her husband, Greg,
was sitting watching TV. She waved a few
sheets of paper excitedly as she made her way towards him.
“Look
at this.” She said, flapping the papers around.
Her excitement was practically tangible.
Greg
took the papers and gave them a quick glance.
They were filled with the large, clumsy letters that he knew to belong
to their eight year old son, Henry. “What
is it?” He asked.
“It’s something
Henry wrote.”
That
much was obvious, but Greg did not ask any other questions. The non-information was given to mean he
should find out on his own, rather than asking her. Greg muted the TV and started to read. It was story about a boy who lost his
favorite ball, and went out to look for it.
The story was filled with spelling and grammar errors, run on sentences,
and the story telling was clumsy. But,
given how old the author was, such mistakes were not only forgivable, but
expected. Greg did his best to ignore
the mistakes of youth and focused on the story itself. It was far from perfect, but it was a far
better story than any eight year old had a right to create. Not only that, but it was three pages long,
which was impressive for a child that age.
“I
think our Henry might be a literary genius.” Jill squealed with delight. “He’ll grow up to be a world famous author, I’m
sure of it!”
Greg
sighed and lowered the short story. “Now,
Jill, let’s not get ahead of ourselves.
He’s a smart kid, sure, but that doesn’t mean—“
“Oh no,
I’m positive.” Jill interrupted. “You
should’ve seen him writing that. His
little eyes just lit up so brightly. Oh,
oh, we need to sign him up for advanced English courses. Maybe there’s a program to promote young
writers in the community center.” She
was bathing in motherly pride, to the point where just about any arguments
would be lost on her.
“Jill,
he hasn’t even hit double digits yet.
Let’s not put any ideas in him yet.”
“Are
you saying we shouldn’t encourage our son?” She said. Her expression did a complete 180.
“No, of
course not. I mean, sure, this shows he
could have some talent as a writer, and we should definitely encourage
that. But let’s not put any pressure on
him to become the next Dickens or something.”
“But…but…”
“Honestly,
will it matter if he becomes famous or not?”
“Well,
no…”
“Exactly. We should be encouraging him, not putting
pressure on him. Let him dream, but don’t
force it on him. Otherwise he’ll grow up
to hate writing.”
Jill
looked horrified. “Oh, oh no. That’d be terrible.”
“Exactly. So let’s, you know, let’s not sign him up for
all that. I mean, if he wants to,
sure. But let’s not make the decision
for him, okay?”
“Okay.”
Jill relented. “But I’m still hanging
the story up on the fridge.”
“Naturally.”
Greg handed the papers back to his wife.
He did not even try to suppress a grin as he continued, “After all, that’s
the first story he ever wrote. When he’s
famous, people are going to want to see it.”
***********************************************
Parents, always remember to encourage your kid's artistic endeavors. You never know what kind of future you might open up for them if you do, and what you'll be shutting down if you don't.
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