I see the light of innocence shining so radiantly in the eyes and heart of my boy. To him the world is magic and shimmering music; it is everlasting candy and ice cream and cake without the upset stomach. It is Dad playing chase, that tired anti-child throwing aside the false burdens of adult care and learning to remember what Childhood was like, light-years ago.
This stark world of deadlines and obligations is not, in fact, the real world. The real world is the substance of our baby dreams. Of our babies’ dreams. The world where Dad really is the Hero because he can do Anything. Where Mom is the Queen of the Living and whose magic breath can destroy the pain of bleeding knees and bruised egos.
In tearing away the scab of world-weary wisdom, in dismantling the false pretention of contemporary illusions, which melt away in the light and heat of the purity of my children’s gaze, I see clearly how much I have lost and forgotten in the cobwebs of dead maturity. Children don’t need reminders to be happy. It’s as natural as breathing. Yet we grownups “grunt and sweat under a weary life” because we have dismissed “what dreams may come”.
I see the light of innocence shining so radiantly in the eyes and heart of my boy. It is the natural disinfectant to the jaded harshness that seeps so easily into my joy-agnostic soul. Do atheists not believe in God because they don’t look into the eyes of five year old boys? Do they choose to furtively look away from the soul-hearts that mirror the music of heaven?
The sound of two children playing, a boy and a girl, is the sound of God’s trumpet, blowing to wake up the world for a call to justice.