by Gerald Locklin
When my two-year-old daughter
sees someone come through the door
whom she loves, and hasn't seen for a while,
and has been anticipating
she literally shrieks with joy.
I have to go into the other room
so that no one will notice the tears in my eyes.
Later, after my daughter has gone to bed,
I say to my wife,
"She will never be this happy again,"
and my wife gets angry and snaps,
"Don't you dare communicate your negativism to her!"
And, of course, I won't, if I can possibly help it,
and of course I fully expect her
to have much joy in her life,
and, of course, I hope to be able
to contribute to that joy —
I hope, in other words, that she'll always
be happy to see me come through the door—
but why kid ourselves — she, like every child,
has a life of great suffering ahead of her,
and while joy will not go out of her life,
she will one of these days cease to actually,
literally, jump and shriek for joy.
2 comments:
I think about this sentiment all the time. I watch my little guy and wonder what sorts of heartache and pain he will encounter in his life and it nearly kills me.
Meee toooo - the future is such a big thing to worry about, no? And suddenly it means so much more when you have a kid. Yikes.
Ever since Zoralee was about 6 months old and a man told us, referring to family-rearing, "These are the best years of your life. Don't forget it," I have pondered this idea of best/better/happy/sad years. I dunno how true the sentiment is, since I've never lived my whole life before. The optimist in me wants to say anyone can make THIS year their best - and I don't even watch Oprah. But there is something pretty special about having a family.
Anyway, just thoughts that sort of dovetail from this great poem you've posted.
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