On Childhood

After dinner and bedtime, when the house settles into the quiet rhythm of the evening, Aaron likes to sit down and read my day's blog post and all the comments that come with it. Well when he read my last post he asked, "Do you think this would hurt the kids' feelings if they read it?"

I suppose it might, but I think my kids understand where I'm coming from.

From this question sprang a conversation on childhood.

When you stop to think about it, childhood--at least the parts you remember--really only occupies thirteen or fourteen years of life. And even then, you really only have until age fourteen or fifteen before the innocence of childhood is taken over by the angst of the teenage years.

So why then do we cling so ardently to those few years of life when our earliest memories are made when we have so many decades of memories to follow? Why when we are continually moving forward through adulthood do we still clutch the chubby fist of our long past childhood, yanking it on behind us on, urging it to keep pace with our grown selves?

We dwell on our childhood. We brood over our childhood. Some of us continually wish to return to childhood. The summers you spent as a child were the best summers ever. The games you played as a child were the best games ever. The traditions you began as a child are the ones that last. The memories made in childhood are the clearest, sharpest, purest memories of all. The dreams we dream in childhood are the ones that shape our lives.

It makes me wonder--and cringe just a little--if the person we were as a child is who we really are. Children are pure and meek--sometimes mild--before they become affected and disillusioned by the world. I see it in my own children even if I can't recognize it in myself. I see it in the sparkle in their eyes, and the pure, unconditional love they offer to everyone and everything. I recognize it in their curious imaginations. And isn't that what we all love about childhood, and children in general? Maybe we cling to our childhood as a way of returning to that perfect, unaffected us we used to be. To dwell for just one more moment in the pure love and undiluted enthusiasm and zest for life and learning.

So make no mistake, when I speak with delight of my children returning to school, it is only so I can relish in the joy of their return home. (That and a few hours of peace and quiet.)