In Children, We See the Future

The Boston Herald

We never take our eyes off them. Well, sometimes. When we blink. When we sleep.

But all the other times we're watching.

We watched them when they were infants, first in their bassinets, then in their cribs. We watched them in their swings, opening their eyes, looking around, then sleeping again. We watched their fists clench and unclench, their heads droop, their tiny arms stretch, their legs thrash. We watched them cradled in our arms and sprawled on the floor, small and dependent, looking and learning, reaching out and taking things in.

We watch them constantly - a favorite show without reruns or summer breaks.

They have grown bigger while we've watched. They're 14 months and nearly 2 now - incredible, impossible - a boy and a girl, cousins and best friends. And we who are their parents, their grandparents, their aunt and uncle, remain amazed by what they do - by their crawling and standing, by their first steps, by their saying “Hi!'' and waving goodbye - amazed, appreciative and awed.

There is so much within a child: life and curiosity, doggedness and humor. We think that we have to gaze at sunsets for inspiration, turn to oceans and mountains for meaning, read books to learn, visit museums to reflect. 

But all the inspiration and meaning in the world dwell within a single human soul.

I used to have an ant farm, a thin, plastic see-through thing. I was in seventh grade and would watch the ants eating and building tunnels and mostly cooperating but sometimes fighting. Ants fascinated me.

Then one day they didn't. I realized that they never changed. They ate, they dug, they fought or they didn't fight. They were predictable. Seeds were more interesting. At least they turned into different kinds of flowers.

But seeds and flowers, sunsets and oceans, mountains - even galaxies - don't hold within them the bounty that is within people.

I watch Lucy and Adam and think about my grandmother watching me and her grandmother watching her and all the people I know and don't know, people who were and people who will be, life a continuum. But human life is more - not just a continuation of what was, but always new and different and irrationally and unfairly unpredictable.

In Maine last weekend, I didn't head to my usual rock to sit and stare at the ocean as I've done my whole life or walk along the beach in search of sea glass and shells. I watched Lucy and Adam instead. “Dat?'' they ask now, wanting names, wanting more. “That's the sun,'' we say, pointing. “Those are waves. This is sand.'' They imitate. They stack blocks. They rock back and forth to music and clap when a song ends and kiss each other and reach for flowers and trees. And when you say, “Sing me a song,'' they smile and hum.

That's what they do today. Tomorrow? Who knows? Life is the ultimate cliffhanger. Nothing is guaranteed - not the next moment, never mind the next chapter. 

Will life be good to these children? Will they be good? Will the world change them or will they change the world?

We look to heaven for miracles, in search of something grand when the grandest things are lying in our arms and playing at our feet.

And so we watch them in wonder for all the days that we can.