I must take issue with the term 'a mere child', for it has been

Host: The evening has descended with a quiet grace, the soft glow of streetlights casting a faint, golden hue on the sidewalks outside. The air is crisp, carrying with it the scent of autumn leaves and distant rain. Inside, the room is a mix of shadows and warmth, a low fire flickers in the hearth, its crackling sound the only interruption in the otherwise silent space. Jeeny sits cross-legged on the floor, a book in her lap, her eyes absorbed in the words. Jack leans against the wall, arms folded, his gaze distant, as though he's lost in thought.

Jack: (breaking the silence, his voice light, but with a hint of curiosity) “You know, there’s something about the way people talk about children. They call them ‘mere children,’ like it’s some kind of insult.”

Jeeny: (looking up, eyes curious) “What do you mean?”

Jack: (with a slight smirk, his tone reflective) “It’s like they think being young automatically means you’re insignificant. Fran Lebowitz once said, ‘I must take issue with the term "a mere child," for it has been my invariable experience that the company of a mere child is infinitely preferable to that of a mere adult.’ And honestly? I can’t help but agree.”

Jeeny: (laughing softly, her eyes lighting up with a mixture of amusement and intrigue) “So you think children are better company than adults?”

Jack: (nodding, his voice growing a little more earnest) “Absolutely. Children don’t hide behind masks, don’t have agendas. They speak truth, even when it’s uncomfortable. Adults are so wrapped up in themselves, in their complications. They try to make everything sound important, but often, they’re just avoiding the truth.”

Jeeny: (thoughtfully tapping her chin, her voice softer now) “But don’t you think adults have wisdom, too? There’s value in experience, in the lessons learned over time. Children may speak truth, but they don’t always have the capacity to understand the weight of it.”

Host: The air between them feels charged, like the moment before a storm, words hanging in the balance. Jeeny stands, her figure a silhouette against the flickering fire, her movements slow, deliberate. Jack watches her, his gaze steady but filled with something that could be called recognition—or challenge.

Jack: (his voice growing a little sharper) “But that’s just it, Jeeny. Adults may have experience, but they’ve also learned how to ignore the things that really matter. They’ve built this complex world of rules, expectations, and distractions. But children? They don’t know how to be anything but real.”

Jeeny: (sitting back down, her eyes narrowing in contemplation) “Real, but naive, Jack. Children are unfiltered, yes, but that doesn’t always mean they have the right answers. Their truth might not always be the whole truth. It’s easy to say that the company of a child is better when you’re looking at it from the outside. But what about when you have to deal with the mess of their emotions, their insecurities? What about when they need guidance, when their truth hurts?”

Jack: (shaking his head slightly, a faint smile crossing his lips) “That’s the thing, Jeeny. Adults hide from the mess, try to make it clean and neat. But kids? They don’t run from it. They don’t know how to, and maybe that’s the beauty of it. They may not have all the answers, but they’re open. They live in a world that’s less about being right and more about being present. Their truth might hurt, but it’s also real.”

Jeeny: (softly, her voice almost wistful now, as she looks into the fire) “I see what you mean. Children are raw, aren’t they? In a way that adults lose as they grow older. But isn’t that because they haven’t learned to cope with the weight of the world? They haven’t had to face the complexities of life the way adults do.”

Jack: (his voice gently insistent, his eyes meeting hers) “Exactly. Adults have learned to protect themselves, to build walls. Children haven’t figured out that the world is a place where you have to protect yourself from the truth. They just let it flow. And maybe that’s why, when you’re with them, you don’t feel so alone in your own vulnerability.”

Host: The conversation swirls around them like the smoke curling up from the fire. Jeeny watches the flames dance, her thoughts flickering as rapidly as the firelight itself. Jack remains still, his words settling into the air, heavy with their own truth. There’s a softness now in his voice, a recognition that he’s not just talking about children, but about the kind of person he wishes he could be—open, unafraid, honest.

Jeeny: (after a long pause, her voice soft but filled with a deeper understanding) “So, what you’re saying is… maybe we should be more like children in some ways. More honest, more open. Not so burdened by the weight of the world, but just… living, fully.”

Jack: (his expression softening, a slight nod accompanying his words) “Yes. Adults complicate everything. But children? They see the world for what it is—messy, beautiful, and sometimes painfully honest. That’s the company I’d choose any day.”

Host: The firelight flickers once more, casting dancing shadows on the walls. Jeeny smiles softly, her eyes still gazing into the flame. Jack shifts his weight slightly, his posture more relaxed now, as though the conversation has unlocked something deep within him.

In this quiet, intimate moment, there’s an understanding between them that goes beyond words. The company of a child, unburdened by the weight of the world, is a gift—a reminder of what it means to live with simplicity, to embrace the raw, untouched truth of existence. In the presence of such truth, perhaps it is adults who need to learn, not the other way around.