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Kids say the darndest things.

Or sometimes it's what they don't say...

Two Saturdays-ago, I was coaching mountain biking for 8-10 year-olds at the Seymour Demonstration Forest. The rain was coming down - mercilessly. We were cold. Coats were soaked through. Fingers were numb. Spirits were low.

As we biked along, I could feel the palpable lack of enthusiasm lingering in the damp air. Seven children, fourteen mini, soggy gloves; the discomfort was indisputable (undeniable), and yet nobody was complaining (well, except for the one kid).

In an effort to lighten the mood and bring some distraction to the saturation, I started singing a few lines from a tune I had stuck in my head. One of the young boys turns his head around and asks what song I was singing. Not knowing the name of the song, I informed the 8-year old that it is a song by a cool feminist artist (Milck).




"Do you know what that word means? Feminism." I ask.


So, I explain in 8-year old terminology. &quo…

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