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I look at life through my son’s eyes. I see the purity and innocence, the peace and serenity, and wonder a couple of things.
When I was younger, the world was more innocent. Was it, or did it only seem that way because I didn’t know better.
“What’s that?” He points and asks every time there’s something new to him. I explain and move on.
“Who’s that?” He looks at me and wants to put the sound he just heard with who is associated with it. I tell him it’s the people that live upstairs, or the mailman, or whatever.
He goes on playing with his toys, dancing to whatever music, and wanting to play rock star with me - getting his fake guitar and rocking his diaper out while I’m on my microphone doing the “La la la.”
When we’re watching TV, he sits in his Lightning McQueen soft chair and drinks his drink. He asks for strawberries and juice, tackles me and takes over the bed when it’s night time.
He doesn’t know we’re at war in a land we probably shouldn’t be in. He doesn’t know our government is divided by party lines that make our government work. That there are countries that want to kill him and me and you simply because we are Americans.
Sometimes I wish I could recapture that innocence.
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