An afternoon with the children

My former mentor, and God-mother at work, offered me yet another opportunity for learning when she invited me to speak at her son's school about community service. As ever, I was touched and moved by her kindness and more grateful than words can convey. For the first time though, I realized that I was actually quite nervous to speak in front of an audience; an audience of mostly ten- year olds. You see, adults think in familiar ways (and I highly recommend reading 'The Little Prince' to find out just how suffocating those ways are ;) ), along well-beaten paths of questioning and reasoning. Children are a whole other species altogether. Not for them the confines of such paved avenues of thinking; not for them the excuses and burdens of 'that's how it's been done'. On winged chariots, their minds race a zillion paces ahead of you, pausing only to clarify 'why not?!'.
After agonizing for days on how best to present the notion of sharing and service to such a discerning audience, I finally decided to make a short presentation and let the energy of the class drive the better part of an hour ; go with the flow, I said to myself...And flow it did! In fact, the children took charge entirely. Within a few minutes of talking to them, one thing became very clear to me. They understood, almost implicitly, the need for sharing and giving. In fact, many were even rather puzzled at why I was going to such lengths to explain what a wonderful thing it was! On more occasion than one, I was caught speechless by their depth of understanding; of their grasp on the mindlessness in throwing away used eyeglasses rather than donating them. M frowned at the statistics that were projected- more than 97% of used eyeglasses go uncollected every year- and declared, "That's really silly! Why do people throw things away?", and his buddy shrugged his shoulders, "Seriously!".
Yeah, seriously!
After fielding multiple questions on how UFS works, various impairments of vision, starting eyeglass collection drives and so forth, I was quite overwhelmed by their zest and curiosity, and looking for a breather, I exclaimed, "You guys have already collected twelve pairs!". At which, S adjusted her own spectacles on her nose, and nodding sagely, said "It's the ripple effect."
...
A most glorious Friday afternoon, spent with the most precious little beings, I came out of the classroom, heady with the exhilaration of knowing our world is in very safe hands; in their hands. Also, stunned at the compassion that children have. They do not question why one must serve of or help another; only how. They do not wonder what good it will do them; just how much good it will do the other. Isn't it so strange and ironic, that in growing up, we must go back to being children; to re-invent for ourselves this purity of purpose and eagerness to give?

--

As only Gibran can, he describes, and I quote, the truth I discovered yesterday about children:
"
...

For their souls dwell in the house of tomorrow, which you cannot visit, not even in your dreams.

You may strive to be like them, but seek not to make them like you.

..."

The great grandpa tree has been felled... In it's place now lies earth that has been dug out and mounds of wet mud scattered around. Scraps of wood clutter the path where the grass had been. The whole park seems to be in mourning; the squirrels must sorely miss their giant wooded play ground with it's sculpted trunk and serpentine branches, thick and strong, and the foliage dense and inviting; the dogs haven't come out to play, the birds haven't chirped as much. Perhaps it is all in my imagination? It must not be. The emptiness cries out aloud as I turn the corners of the library on my evening walk, I have to force myself to look away and content myself with the other trees, some younger, just beginning to establish themselves into the ground around the periphery of the park, and others a little older, their leaves downcast and sorrowful; the torchbearers for future generations of children to shade themselves under, birds to teasingly chase scampering squirrels down from and for wisdom to provide to the tender little grass-lings swaying gently in the wind.
No, there shan't be that waft of eucalyptus to tingle my senses with the breeze. There will no longer be the live mural behind the windows of the library in the children's corner. The sunlight streaming in now, unobstructed, seems a harsh reminder of what we've lost. A monument that endured for a century despite what killed it from within, an atrocity we wreaked on it. Yet forgiving and ever gracious, it stood by and smiled upon us gently. Just like a grandparent does a mischievous grandchild...
Dear, dear great grandpa tree, we miss you!

And then kids grow up...Shucks!

They're doing that all the time, you know. Kids growing up, that is. They're doing that next door, in that day care center; as they discover new people in this world, different from their parents- little people like themselves. They try to be valiant in this strange atmosphere, failing hopelessly at times and bursting into tears, gurgling mirthfully at others, forgetful of the newness. Yes, kids are always growing up...(Heck I grew up! Although my grandmother does not believe such an event occurred and has me at 21 still and does not think that's very grown up anyway; another 5 years and I will be grateful for that courtesy). But for my baby bbb to have grown up! No!!! It cannot be. She says so though, every chance she gets, that she's a near adult. (I only hear the near, mind you). She will be in college soon, moving away from home, getting a bank account, moving into an apartment... taking charge of her affairs, as she calls it. Affairs, my foot!
And so, I insist upon her talking to me everyday, for hours, if I could have my way (how wonderful that would be!) as if that way I could arrest this onward march somewhow and hold it where it is. Right here. Right now. I will have to get as much of her, in this child-like state now. Tomorrow it will be no more. She will be a child to me, ever. But in her own mind she will cease to be.
If I could only protect that precious wonderment within her, if I could give her that magical mix of feeling liberated as a child and self-reliant as a young adult, if I could preserve the child in her and nourish the woman in her...:) I shall say a prayer for her.