It's almost 11 in the evening and my last night in my parents' house for the holidays. It is exceedingly difficult to carve out any private time at all with family all around, converged like there is but this one opportunity to be all together.
I had my youngest nephew with me almost all day. He is a wonderful child and also a child. So he won't eat the crust of his sandwiches. He would prefer five cookies and only the girl gingerbread because with their skirts, you get more cookie than with the boy cookies and their bare legs. I have to remind him to go pee if he needs to. And then to wash his hands. I gently help him navigate through parking lots, through stores, and on how not to scare the unfamiliar cat. I remind him about brushing his teeth. To say good night to his grandparents. And I sit with him when he misses his mother and doesn't think he can fall asleep by himself.
So today's reading about the wonderful virtues of childhood curiosity and enthusiasm is a bit over wrought, I think. He is curious and asks impossible questions. He is enthusiastic if he is interested. Otherwise, he is a listless shadow of a child, coming along because he has little choice if the adults in his lives are going one way.
The reading speaks of living life. And I think living with fear, with uncertainty, and with new experiences is every bit as much of living life as the wonderful, curious, enthusiastic moments. Both require us to face life on its own terms... the joy, the fear, the excitement, and the banal, without turning our backs. For all of this is to be human.
Today I saw some of life through an eight year old's eyes and it looked a lot like my life.
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