Every child is a magician. They enter a room full of grumpy adults and immediately smiles appear. Quiet becomes noise. Motion escalates. Adults compete to get the tyke's attention.
Infants are totally magical. Without blinking or raising a finger, they can turn a sweet smelling space into a mens locker room. The pungent, colorful mass periodically emitted from their mouth has its own texture and viscosity. Children can make things disappear. A cat, a pet turtle, money left out, and liquor from the cabinet. Socks and underwear vanish under the bed.
Okay, maybe they're evil magicians, but by some trick of light or deft misdirection, they have somehow convinced us that they are worth keeping around. Except the kid next door who plays his drums at all hours. I wish David Blaine would make him vanish.
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