When I became old enough to “take notice” of things, I was fairly deluged with toys: Fuzzy dogs and cats; big, red, yellow and green balls; fancy rattle-boxes, and various other things were used to stimulate my perceptive faculties. All of which should be left to Mother Nature, who ever does these things well in her own good time and way. I became so accustomed to toys, having such an innumerable variety of them, that it required something out of the ordinary to arouse my interest. The poetic thought
“Pleased with a rattle, tickled with a toy,”
had little significance to me. I outgrew toys very early and became precocious. Elderly ladies said I was “old for my age,” whatever that may mean, and that I was too smart to live. But I have always had a stubborn way of disappointing those who love me best. This precocity was taken advantage of by relatives and visitors to furnish them with amusement. Many a time when some one dropped in I was called upon to be the star-performer of the evening. I was compelled to appear whether I felt like it or not. I was tickled in the ribs, because the folks liked to hear my hearty laugh; and I was tossed in the air and stood on my head, because it was thought that these things were as amusing to me as to my audience. Whenever conversation lagged I was made the center of attraction and compelled to assist in some new stunt. As I now look back on my infantile career, I have little reason to question why I was nervous and spoiled as I merged from infancy into childhood. I ought to be thankful that I survived it all!
Nursing the baby.
As I grew older I became peevish and morose. I was full of conceits, moods and whims. This was not due to actual sickness, for all my functions were normal and I was reasonably well nourished. One sort of play or pastime soon palled on me. I think this was mainly due to the fact that I had been humored to death and had enjoyed every sensation and surprise that it was possible for me to experience. When I played with other children, things had to go my way or there was a scene. I did not fight, my bump of combativeness being evidently small. It was not from my inherent goodness that I refrained from pugilistic encounters so much as from the fact that I did not want to disturb my mental equanimity. Then I was lazy and liked a state of physical ease—a condition from which I have not yet recovered. I never wasted any physical energy. In fine, I was steeped in irredeemable laziness to such a degree that it exceeded that of the Indian who said: “What’s the use to run when you can walk; or walk when you can sit; or sit when you can lie?” On one occasion, while yet quite young, I was found trying to limit the number of my respirations, stating that it “tired me to breathe so often.” I often ate and drank more than I really wanted, hoping thereby not to be troubled with eating and drinking for some little time.
My muscles became so soft and flabby from disuse that it was almost physically impossible for me to run and exercise as other children do. I was weaker than I really looked to be. I gained the reputation of being a good boy, but the truth was I was too lazy to do anything mean as well as anything good. I lacked the spirit and vim that the average boy possesses. While I passed in the “good boy” category, no one stopped to question the why or the wherefore of my being good. People often speak of good boys and good babies in a sense of negation. If children do not indulge in the celestial feat of producing a little thunder occasionally, they will never attract any more attention than that of being good, which is sometimes synonymous with being nobody and doing nothing. It is much easier for the devilish boy to accomplish something if his energy can only be harnessed along the line of utility.
I was weaker than I really looked to be.
When I arrived at school age I learned pretty well and was still regarded by many as being precocious in this respect; but I acquired knowledge rather by absorption than by hard study. A soft brick placed in water will soak up a quart in a few days. A human brick will likewise absorb a bit of knowledge if he only remains where there is something to be absorbed. As I did not engage in the usual sports and rampages of boys I took to learning rather readily. At the same time I became introspective and self-centered. The brain cells of the most stupid person are constantly in action. Cerebration goes on whether we will it or not. If we do not direct our brain it will run riot and lead us into devious and dangerous paths.
The more I thought of myself, the more important I became; not proud and supercilious, but simply important to my own little ego. I speculated in my childish way, on the function of each organ of my body and the relation it bore to the great scheme which we call existence. One day I got to wondering what would happen if my heart should take a notion to stop and rest for a few seconds. The thought of such a catastrophe made me so nervous that all my organs apparently got out of gear and I had a diminutive fit. From that day I began to have all sorts of nervous symptoms, most of which were, to say the least, vague and indefinite. Frequently I complained that I was afraid “something was going to happen.” Since then, whenever I hear that phrase I invariably associate it with a person who has nothing to do and who is too lazy to do anything even if he had ever so many duties. At that time I did not know enough about disease symptoms to enable me to acquire a perfect ailment of any sort, but later, when I had formed a speaking acquaintance with diseases, I began to get them rapidly and in the most typical form. For the present I took life as easy as I could and had no boyish ambition to be a cowboy or a desperado. Such ambitions as I did foster were of the free-and-easy sort.My first inspiration worth speaking of was after my visit to the circus. Every male reader has been struck by it some time during his boyhood, and it is a healthy ambition of which we need not be ashamed. Yes, I was going to be an acrobat and wear pretty red tights with glittering spangles! It would be nice, too, I thought incidentally, to be near the little lady who wore the pink tights and did such awe-inspiring stunts on the flying-trapeze. The circus sawdust ring and the flapping folds of canvas may lure boys from books and study, but they give us our first ambition to be and to do something. Mine was of short duration, however. It came and went like the circus itself.
Soon after this I went on an errand to a shoemaker’s repair shop, and the life of a cobbler impressed me favorably. He had such a comfortable seat, made by nailing some leather straps over a circular hole in a bench. The man had nothing to do but to occupy this seat and pound pegs. But the very next week I heard a fine preacher whose roaring eloquence, together with his easy, dignified life, caused me to think that the pulpit was the place for me. A few weeks later I chanced to see a sleight-of-hand performance and I at once decided that the art of legerdemain would be more easily learned than the Gospel work; so I began to practice along this line by extracting potatoes and other sundries from the nasal appendages of members of the household. I was succeeding admirably, I thought, until one day in attempting to eat cotton and blow fire out of my mouth I burnt my tongue painfully and became so disgusted that I abandoned the idea of becoming a showman.
In turn I had fully made up my mind to become a huckster, an auctioneer, a scissors-grinder, a peanut-vender, an editor, an artist, a book-keeper, etc. My natural selection being always something that I thought would not require great energy.
As I became a little older, my mental horizon widened somewhat, but my erratic notions became accordingly more expansive. I was simply a little dreamer and my thoughts were all visionary. It is true that I was quite young, but the proverbial straws pointing the direction of the wind had an application in my case.
