Over the past two years or so I’ve noticed that I stare at children a lot. Don’t judge me yet sonshines. I swear on all my eggs that this is far from some perverted Willy Wonka ogle. It comes from some squishy, maternal place of curiosity. I’m just so fucking fascinated with their impressionability—these bite-size personalities that are incredibly fragile, yet pliable. Where does a parent begin when trying to sculpt a resplendent little being? What a responsibility. And one my crass ass is certainly not ready for, but in the in-between time, I must say The Smiths are providing a nice template for me.
