China


I’m going to dig to China.
Mommy says it is quite a ways.
I’m going to dig to China,
If it takes me seven days.

I was going to dig my hole
In the lot across the street.
But the ground there was so hard
It made the shovel hurt my feet.

So I’ll dig in Daddy’s garden
Where he planted English peas,
And if Daddy gets unhappy
I’ll blame it on the Chinese.

If you’ve never been to China
And you think you’d like to go,
When I am finished digging
I’ll let you be the first to know.

But if I can’t dig all the way,
And I don’t find some Chinese,
I will still be very happy,
‘Cause we won’t be eating peas!

My mother always said, of a deep hole or a deep plant root, that it went all of the way to China. That’s where the name of this poem came from. It is another little boy poem. All little boys like to dig holes; little girls usually do not. Little boys can coerce little girls into digging if the little boys use the little girls dolls to play cave-in. I hope you don’t think that I’m speaking from experience.

My grandson, Aidan, was two. He had a plastic shovel that he carried everywhere he went. His parents have not yet figured out where his great attachment to the shovel came from but we’re hoping for construction engineer rather than ditch digger.

I just added the English peas because it rhymes so well with Chinese, although none of my four kids like them.