My eleven year old burst into tears while sitting on the couch.
As I rushed over to investigate, I noticed a worn copy of Howard Pyle’s The Merry Adventures of Robin Hood in her hand.
“What’s the matter?” I asked.
“All the adventures happen in books and never to meeeeee…” she cried. Her tears and distress were real, so I stifled the smile that threatened.
It brought back a dusty memory of myself, twelve years old, praying fervently every night that God would send adventure, and it made me wonder: Why are preteens so desperate for swash-buckling?…..
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Sarah Dixon Young 