I have the unique opportunity to observe innocence every day. It appears to me in the form of wide-eyed and playful three and four year olds prancing around my office having fun. Sometimes they just sing softly to themselves, lost in their own fantasy world. Sometimes they explode into what, if replicated by an adult, would appear to be a psychotic breakdown. All of this is for the most part pleasant and often charming, or at least amusing -- but it can also be extremely uncomfortable.
Innocence sometimes upsets me, because I know that it is fragile. It is a state of being that cannot last, but leads inevitably towards disappointment and despair. All is not lost, however, for even these dark places are not the end but themselves lead to another, more hopeful and wiser level of consciousness. But even though I know that, it doesn't keep me from looking at these innocent children and shuddering at the pain that lies ahead of them. At various moments, bits of their care-free world are going to disappear until almost none of it is left.
I witnessed one of these moments the other day, and its actually a pretty amusing story, so stick with me.
I was typing away frantically at my desk when a small boy approached me timidly with an obviously brand-new scooter. He presented it to me shyly, very proud of it but worried about how I might react.
"Is that your scooter?" I asked, pretending to be stunned. He nodded, smiling very big now. He was adorable, with large, round eyes and chubby cheeks.
"Wow!" I said. "I bet it goes really fast!"
"It does," he whispered, as if confiding a huge secret.
I continued to admire it, and he slowly began to warm up to me until we were the best of friends. We had shared a moment. We had a thing. We were brothers-of-the-scooter, united in a common interest. Colleagues and compatriots. Had I been of the right size, I bet I could have asked him to let me take a ride, and I bet he would have let me.
And that, my friends, is trust.
"Show me how it works," I said, smiling, thoroughly delighted by this encounter.
He obliged and stepped up onto the scooter, pushing himself around the office slowly while showing off his driving skills. I applauded. He beamed, and smiled at me with what could only be described as pure love.
"Tyler!" shouted his nanny, suddenly noticing the situation, "I told you no riding that inside!"
She was a big, strong woman with a thick Jamaican accent and a demeanor that suggested she'd take no back-talk from either of us. She swooped in with a regal air and snatched the boy and his scooter away, dragging them both back to the other side of the room.
In a moment she returned, this time carrying only the scooter. She deposited the boy's treasured possession behind my desk.
"I put this here," she said, and it was like a command.
"Um, sure," I replied weakly.
She walked confidently back to the child, who looked at her with confusion and panic. I could practically hear his little heart thudding in his chest from where I sat. Where? Where is it? He asked these questions with his eyes, barely able to speak.
"That man took it," the nanny announced, pointing at me, "He says you can't have it." And she sat down, the matter now finished and resolved.
The boy looked at me in shock. How can I describe what I saw in those eyes? Pain. Confusion. Betrayal. Anger.
My mouth worked, but I had no way to communicate the truth - and even if I could, I would not be believed. I was a villain. I had violated the trust he'd placed in me.
This is why I don't like innocence. It bursts so quickly, and authoritarian nannies are always blaming me for it. See where I'm coming from??
Innocence sometimes upsets me, because I know that it is fragile. It is a state of being that cannot last, but leads inevitably towards disappointment and despair. All is not lost, however, for even these dark places are not the end but themselves lead to another, more hopeful and wiser level of consciousness. But even though I know that, it doesn't keep me from looking at these innocent children and shuddering at the pain that lies ahead of them. At various moments, bits of their care-free world are going to disappear until almost none of it is left.
I witnessed one of these moments the other day, and its actually a pretty amusing story, so stick with me.
I was typing away frantically at my desk when a small boy approached me timidly with an obviously brand-new scooter. He presented it to me shyly, very proud of it but worried about how I might react.
"Is that your scooter?" I asked, pretending to be stunned. He nodded, smiling very big now. He was adorable, with large, round eyes and chubby cheeks.
"Wow!" I said. "I bet it goes really fast!"
"It does," he whispered, as if confiding a huge secret.
I continued to admire it, and he slowly began to warm up to me until we were the best of friends. We had shared a moment. We had a thing. We were brothers-of-the-scooter, united in a common interest. Colleagues and compatriots. Had I been of the right size, I bet I could have asked him to let me take a ride, and I bet he would have let me.
And that, my friends, is trust.
"Show me how it works," I said, smiling, thoroughly delighted by this encounter.
He obliged and stepped up onto the scooter, pushing himself around the office slowly while showing off his driving skills. I applauded. He beamed, and smiled at me with what could only be described as pure love.
"Tyler!" shouted his nanny, suddenly noticing the situation, "I told you no riding that inside!"
She was a big, strong woman with a thick Jamaican accent and a demeanor that suggested she'd take no back-talk from either of us. She swooped in with a regal air and snatched the boy and his scooter away, dragging them both back to the other side of the room.
In a moment she returned, this time carrying only the scooter. She deposited the boy's treasured possession behind my desk.
"I put this here," she said, and it was like a command.
"Um, sure," I replied weakly.
She walked confidently back to the child, who looked at her with confusion and panic. I could practically hear his little heart thudding in his chest from where I sat. Where? Where is it? He asked these questions with his eyes, barely able to speak.
"That man took it," the nanny announced, pointing at me, "He says you can't have it." And she sat down, the matter now finished and resolved.
The boy looked at me in shock. How can I describe what I saw in those eyes? Pain. Confusion. Betrayal. Anger.
My mouth worked, but I had no way to communicate the truth - and even if I could, I would not be believed. I was a villain. I had violated the trust he'd placed in me.
This is why I don't like innocence. It bursts so quickly, and authoritarian nannies are always blaming me for it. See where I'm coming from??
Comments
You tried this one before? Highly recommended.