Innocence, renewed

The little gentleman arrived in the dawn “trailing clouds of glory” carrying with him, his “intimations of immortality”. It is said every time a baby is born the world is renewed in its innocence. Certainly, the world seemed a little more innocent that day as I saw through the window of the hospital, trees green and thick with leaves with the bright rays of the sun pouring through, creating blotches of sunshine on the green of the lawn. The translucent blue sky was a canopy of benevolence. The mother and the newborn seemed lost in dream-filled sleep.

This little baby, I thought, would grow up one day and take his place in the world; with his desires and aspirations, his frustrations and hopes and his right to lead a fulfilling life, never mind the odds. He will find joy in the everyday and the familiar and an extraordinary capacity to wonder at the unfamiliar, which is the essence of being human. He would trade his innocence for the wisdom that comes with living.

He will exult in the glories of nature, he will bask in the warmth of familial love, he will draw courage from the reassurance of knowledge in the face of confusion, he will reflect on the sorrows around and develop a sense of humanity, the ability to shed a tear with the miserable and give a hand to those who stumble. He will develop resilience in the face of unfair things the world might do to him, he will live through them and finally, put them behind him with a sense of triumph.

The baby smiled in his sleep, perhaps divining my thoughts. As they grow children will puzzle us. We know our children, and don’t know them; they know us and don’t know us. We look at the world together and separately, attempting to make sense of it. We agree sometimes but mostly we don’t till we wonder whether they are the children we brought into the world. We have no monopoly rights over them, right under our vigil, they are constructing their interior lives.

“Children give us a sense of continuity, a symbolic conquest over death”. They are the harbingers of a new generation carrying the baton of our hopes and aspirations.

As parents, we expect them to be better than us, to dream better dreams and live more meaningful lives. But nothing can be willed. Somewhere along the line, we must let go and allow them to find their rightful place under the sun.

It would be wise to remember the words of Kahlil Gibran, the Lebanese American poet: Your children are not your children/ They are the sons and daughters/ of Life’s longing for itself/ They come through you but not/ from you/And though they are with you/yet they belong not to you.