It was approximately ten degrees outside on December 13, and I was precisely where I wanted to be – sipping hot chocolate under a wool blanket.
That was however, until my entire world came crashing down. I heard a peculiar vibrating noise, so I answered my phone – it was my mother, and she wanted me to rake.
Bitterly, I piled layer after layer of various animal-skin coats onto myself. Lambskin, goatskin, cowhide, synthetic fiber, and even my cherished Italian Wool coat.
I braved the wilds of the subarctic temperature, and stepped outside, armed only with a rake and and my own heart.
As I methodically, tediously bundled the leaves into delicate piles, I noted an odd sight across the street from me.
Two of my neighbors, both freshmen, were locked in mortal combat, wielding sticks fashioned as swords.
The two cloth-clad warriors matched blow for blow, seamlessly fending off their opposite, until finally, the darker-haired freshman made contact.
I waited anxiously for tears to be shed, for his pride to be shattered, but instead, they had an entirely different reaction.
Both the freshmen burst into laughter, rolling about on the frozen blades of grass.
Momentarily, I transitioned into a nostalgic state of mind. I remembered the days where I too was fourteen years old with a glimmering future and a wild imagination.
Times before man had born torn asunder by the hardships of homework, tests, exams, and even the occasional crisis.
I could not let these young idealists escape my cruel reality unscathed; I dropped my plastic rake and began my slow trek over to their side of the street.
As I approached them, rage came over me, I began shouting at them: “You’re being unrealistic! The world isn’t nearly as fantastic as you think it is, it’s a horrible awful place!”
The tots glared at me. “What are you talking about man? We’re going inside.”
I sighed and noted the gleam in their eye. I decided perhaps their idealism was an attribute to envy.
What would the world be without the occasional idealist thinker? Without Galileo’s idealism, we would still go on thinking all the planets revolved around us, much akin to how freshmen cling to the ideal that everything revolves around them.
Without DaVinci’s idealism, we would be left without both flying machines and beautiful artwork.
With my new found perspective on life thanks to witnessing pure youthful bliss, I turned around and headed back to my own house with a sense of optimism.
Maybe we could all learn a little about idealism from playing with sticks every now and then.