I see someone has already answered this but I'd like to do so as well.
As a mother, and once a child, as a priestess and counsellor for 25 years I
found this a very one sided, and culturally restricted text. The only
children who might have some hope of living like this are well off, white
males in politically stable areas of the world.
Even that is not so, for I counselled many an affluent male westerner whose
childhood had held untold suffering. For the general run I think the
gleaming experience described here certainly does break through the dreary
prisonhouse of school, the pressures and troubles of family life, illnesses
and so on.
But I am conscious so much of just how much hard work I have to put in daily
to protect that precious vulnerable openness in my son - and I fail and fail
again, not because I am weak - for I am formidable especially as a mother!
but because society and biology flings so much hurt and distress at us all
the time, both petty and major. We keep on through and yes his life is an
exceptionally happy one by most standards: we are lucky, and I love the
shining in his face so much, it makes me proud I salvage it against the
odds.
Yet I know just how privileged we are, living unafraid of war, famine, many
diseases ... others his age are labouring all their waking hours, or
prostituting their bodies, or waiting in deadened camps, or worse. Even we
have had serious illness, we have held through death close to us; we worked
together to keep his father alive through cardiac collapse in front of us.
We are now puzzling how to ensure he can just go out of the house safely in
our village because a bigger boy is terrorising the kids and last week threw
my son into a stand of wild, 4ft nettles ... his bare arms were ridged with
white corded stings from wrist to shoulder and I still hear him sobbing with
pain in the bathroom afterwards.
The joy comes as he shows how he loves and delights in strong females and
loving males; as he cuddles his beloved cat; as he builds and learns, as he
teaches me ... I can't imagine how other parents manage to cherish a
childhood who send their children to school; that's a massive destruction I
don't choose to take on - I know I am not strong enough for that one.
But, yes, that all said, there is a wondrous capacity in children to live
fully, to hope and try again, and respond piercingly to the happinesses of
the world. It is the sacred work of mothers, guardians, and healers, to
support that, keep it alive, and help renew it for those of us whose
sufferings have smashed it in early or later childhood.
To do that guardian work we have to renew it in ourselves, and yes we need
to be reminded of our inner child being there. So poetry and other
inspirations that can help us remember it are welcome. I would prefer though
that we tell both sides, as any triumph of hope and love comes out of a
constant spiritual and practical devotion: hard work and a lump of luck
Shan
Forest of Dean
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