Category: Children

Our Jon, aged one, can talk a bit,
Which to his kith and kin may brand him
Exceptional, but let’s admit
We alone can understand him.

by Ray Romine Sunday, August 20, 1950

If it’s not too much imposition,
I’ll boast of my son’s disposition:
He likes his teacher, he likes school;
He is considerate, as a rule;
He’s seldom in a pouty mood;
He isn’t fussy as to food;
He thinks his father isn’t old;
He goes to bed when he is told;
I’ve seen him fall, and, from the -ground,
Grin and make no slightest sound;
He’ll come for lunch at just a call;
He’s quite good-natured, after all,
Except that if you’d see him lose
His temper, mention overshoes!

by Ray Romine Monday, February 11, 1952

When I watch funny folk who strut and preen
Their madcap way across our TV screen
With jokes that Noah left upon the ark;
Who mug; who imitate; who howl; who bark–
I sometimes think they’re justified–don’t you?–
When children think THEY’RE pretty funny too!

by Ray Romine Monday, November 17, 1952

Her teacher told my little girl,
“Go home and wash your ears!”
Exhibiting a singular
Lack of tact, one fears.
This teacher doesn’t know her kids,
Nor how, indeed, to win ’em,
Or she’d have said, “My dear, your ears–
We’ll plant petunias in ’em!”

by Ray Romine Tuesday, August 7, 1951

You’ll never feel too old yourself
If you’ve a pint-size Junior elf
Who romps and plays and looks and asks
And lightens all the prosaic tasks;
A four-star general to whom
No charger’s finer than your broom;
Whose small imagination rare
Finds thrills and romance everywhere;
Who gets you out into the sun
And makes you re-aware of fun.
When home as a concern is slow,
A boy’s the spark that makes it go.

by Ray Romine Saturday, February 16, 1952

My Girl Scout daughter is outgrowing
The kid of whom I’ve been so fond
When her Bird-list contains a knowing
“Also One Truck Driver–Blond!”

by Ray Romine Tuesday, November 6, 1951

When the Bedtime stories are over,
And each bed finds a kiddie tucked in it,
There’s a pause in the daily frustration
That’s regarded as Father’s Minute.
At least one might so designate it
If Mother didn’t appropriate it

by Ray Romine Sunday, November 5, 1950

“His report card is nothing to worry about–“
At least that’s what I, once recovered from shock, said,
For it’s the for-surest of ways to find out
That he’s merely a chip off the fatherly block-head!

by Ray Romine Tuesday, February 9, 1954

He knows far more, my neighbor’s son,
Than I when I was twenty-one.
Press him hard; he’ll maybe say
He’s smarter than I am today.
Small wonder that the one-half shuns
The other half’s precocious sons!

by Ray Romine Wednesday, July 11, 1951

He has his mask across his eyes;
His chaps ride firmly on his thighs;
His horse is fed; his lasso’s coiled;
He twirls his six-gun, cleaned and oiled;
His sombrero rides just a-tilt–
Authentic, this lad, to the hilt!
He tugs the kerchief he has knotted,
And fiercely frowns; the loot is spotted!
Then off he rides, but not for far–
He’s raiding Mother’s cookie-jar.

by Ray Romine Monday, November 10, 1952