At lunch, a toddler runs past our table and waves with a ridiculously large smile on his face. You can't help but laugh at the open display of naive friendliness. I wave back with what is sure to be an equally ridiculous grin. The restaurant is under his reign as he clumsily cavorts across the green tiles without falling, as only a toddler can, and flips through a key chain as big as his head, randomly choosing one that will fit the lock on the front door. The key is bigger than his fist, but somehow, those small hands manage to slide it into the keyhole. He turns and flips his tiny body around, but the door doesn't register the effort in the slightest. I can't hide my smile and think, "One of these days, don't give up."

Kids in cars. Kids hiding in small spaces, conspiring. Kids coming out of their winter shells as the weather warms, to play in the adult world. I play with my adult belongings and conspire with my adult friends, but I feel as though I'm still exploring a world that is made for a different kind of person, the kind that's better equipped for life.

Someday, kiddo.

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