To Be a Child
by Michael Sauers

One must never forget how it was to be a child. We all must grow up eventually but unfortunately, most of us loose our memories with age. The joy we all experience when we're with a child, no matter what their age (or ours for that matter) is almost universal.

I was being depressed as usual one day, reflecting on my life before and my life ahead, when the cries of joy rose from a young boy's mouth in the backyard next door. I stopped what I was doing and went to my window to find the source of this wonderful noise. What I saw lifted my spirits.

I witnessed a young boy of about three years of age (although I'm a bad judge of age,) running, jumping, and screaming; having a grand-ole-time. With him was a young woman in her early twenties (again, remember my judgment.) She was watching over the child, smiling every few moments or so at what the child was doing. The smile seemed only to reflect that the boy was keeping out of trouble and being no overt bother to her.

Slowly, over a period of about fifteen minutes, I witnessed a change in the young woman's actions and reactions to the surrounding situation. The more joy the child found in what adults would consider simple things, the more she started to respond to him.

The boy started to jump, trying to touch the sky. She soon followed suit, maybe just to encourage the child, but to me she seemed to almost believe it was possible for her also. From a distance I saw a brief shine in her lovely eyes. The shine of endless possibilities, dreams long forgotten. For that brief moment she was a child again.

Oh how many of us long, secretly, quietly, to have the innocence of a child reflect upon how we live. Though many of us are afraid to show this, it slips out when we feel others are not looking. I wished that the scene would never end. Deep down, I believe, neither did she.

Feeling I must record both what I witnessed and what I felt, I quickly dressed and quietly went out side. I did such for two reasons; one, to be closer to the joy they were having and two, to allow my presence to be known for spying (whether you could call my actions that or not) is not a wonderful thing.

When my presence was realized by the young woman her laughter slowly drifted away. I was the beacon of reality bringing her back to the port of real life.

As I write, I can see her silhouette through her kitchen window. If she only knew of what I now write.

It is beginning to rain. I must retreat back into the life I call my own.

01 May 1992