Childlike Hedonism

There is nothing like the hedonism of a child.

Today I went to a four-year-old's birthday party. Oh my. What a bacchanalia. Unbridled enthusiasm for each hedonistic pleasure.

First there was the joy of physical exertion. They played on the playground. They ran. They chased. They laughed. They don't have many words, these pre-ks, but they have plenty of meaning and expression.

Before four, you don't get much relationship with other children. At four, you really see them begin to bond and form strong friendships. What can be better than friends?

Then there was the entertainment. Mad Science, a demonstration of wonder and whimsy. A magician and a circus rolled into one. What is this itch that such wonders tickle?

The pizza was brought in and fed to the ravenous herd. Clamor was replaced with silent munching and slurps. Then to the playground and back to the pinata. Wanton destruction of something beautiful. Beating it with a bat. What itch is this? This destruction?

I must re-read my Freud.

The bash of candy and the swoop of children. The cries of the forlorn without their proper share. The joy of those discovering what pleasures the treats hold.

But then, the cries are silenced when the birthday cake is brought out. They run to find their places at the table. More succulent delights.

Then parting gifts and sated repose in the car on the way home.

What pleasure they indulge in. All the senses. Unremitting, unabated, pure indulgence in every pleasure they know.

They know how to have a good time. Would that I learn well from them.