Little Girls Are Quite Special

By CHARLES M. GUTHRIE
of the editorial page staff
published by the StarTribune
May 17, 1964


   THERE'S THIS to be said about girl friends--the younger they are the easier it is to impress them.  A little girl distributes admiring glances generously.
   Take Ann and Katy.  Both think I'm quite a character.  Both are pre-kindergarten and both are neighbors. We see a good deal of each other, particularly on Saturday when I'm out in the yard and available.
   The sobering fact is, however, that I won't rate high with them permanently--two or three years at the outside.  As they grow older, little girls find my witticisms less hilarious and take me for granted.  By the time a girl I've known all her life is 16, any illusions she ever had about me are gone.  I'm just an over-the-hill yard raker and window washer.

   SMALL BOYS get wise to me , too.  When the brothers of Katy and Ann were moppets, they were faithful weekend helpers, eager to mow my lawn and wash my car.  Now their time is for better things.  They are courteous and pleasant, but the old relaxed camaraderie is gone and the horseplay fading into memory.  That's how it must be.  They are growing up.  Children can be children only a little while, not nearly long enough.

   BUT I thank heaven for little girls.  I'm a pushover for little girls.  So is my wife.  We haven't yet had a granddaughter but once had a little daughter of our own.  When she was small the depression was big and inescapable, but she was gay and unworried.  Her blythe spirit kept life in perspective.
   Now I'm making the best possible use of Katy and Ann and will bask in their favor as long as they let me.  I hope the summer will see more Saturdays like a recent one.  After Ann and Katy had dropped over three or four times to discuss neighborhood affairs and to ask why I was squirting water on the screens, they made a final call at 6 p.m., when we were sitting down to dinner.  They wondered if I could come out and play some more.  This pleased me even more than it amused me.  It was as nice a compliment as I've had in months.  It convinced me that I'd won their acceptance and made the club.
   A couple of weeks ago while raking up some litter, I uncovered an old ball that had molded through the winter in an iris bed.  I tossed it to Ann and told her she could have it.  You'd have thought I'd given her a new doll.  She thanked me not once but repeatedly, and not casually but profusely.

   KATY HAS an dog named Dusty, a nondescript, long-haired little pooch that looks much the same front and rear.  When Katy comes to see me the dog is usually with her.  Why, I don't know, since she pulls his ears, sits on him and makes him miserable.  Dusty has no time for me when Katy isn't around.  To him I'm blood brother of the mailman--a bum and a scoundrel.
   Ann and Katy aren't the only little folks in the neighborhood.  The block is jumping with them, but they happen to be the two I know best.
   As for little boys, there's Danny, who lives next door on the north.  Danny is a comparative newcomer but it won't be long before he's a pal.  He is crazy to do chores and last Saturday gave my son a hand.  If he likes to mow lawns and wash cars as well as Jimmy and Mike used to, I'll be in luck.


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