Our Child Doesn't Know Anything
or
Thank God!
I am now about to make a remark that I suppose most parents will
think me hateful for,
Though as a matter of fact I am only commenting on a condition that
they should be more than greatful for.
What I want to say is, that of luckiness it seems to me to be the height
That babies aren't very bright.
Now listen to me for a minute, all you proud progenitors who boast that
your bedridden infant offspring of two months or so are already
bright
enough to get into Harvard or Stanford or Notre Dame or
Fordham;
Don't you realize that the only thing that makes life at all bearable to
those
selfsame offspring is being rather backward, and that if they
had any
sense at all they would lose no time in perishing of boredom?
Good heavens, I can think of no catastrophe more immense
Than a baby with sense,
Because one thing at least, willy-nilly, you must believe,
And that is, that a baby has twenty-four hours a day to get through with
just the same as we've.
Some people choose to wonder about virtue and others about crime,
But I choose to wonder how babies manage to pass the time.
They can't pass it with tennis or badminton or golf,
Or in going around rescuing people from Indians and then marrying
somebody else the way Pocahontas did with the Messrs. Smith
and Rolfe;
They can't pass it in bridge or parchesi or backgammon,
Or in taking the subway to Wall Street and worshipping Mammon;
How then do they manage to enthuse themselves,
And amuse themselves?
Well, partly they sleep,
And mostly they weep,
And the rest of the time they relax
On their backs,
And eat, by regime specifically, but by nature omnivorously,
And vocalize vocivorously.
That, to make it short,
Is about all they can do in the way of sport;
So whatever may come,
I am glad that babies are dumb.
I shudder to think what for entertainment they would do
Were they as bright as me or you.
