What our children don’t know.

There are things that our children don’t know. I know this to be true because I was once a child. The things they don’t know today are the same things I didn’t know yesterday (well a lot of yesterdays). I suspect that one day they too will know things that their own children do not know; this is the way of the world.

The list of things unknown by our children is exhaustive, and falls into two categories. First are the things that they may eventually know because we tell them about it. Now of course that doesn’t guarantee that they know or remember it, which would require them to listen.

Second are the things they will probably never know.

They don’t know about breath. They don’t know that when they took their first breath into their tiny lungs, as I watched their tiny chest rise and fall, they took my breath away. They don’t know that for the first few months of their life, every night I stood above their bed and listened. I listened for the sounds of breathing.

They don’t know how much I wanted their first words to be “Daddy”, or how it really didn’t matter after all.

They don’t know that dirty diapers, baby spit up, and any other bodily substance makes me cringe unless I first rub deodorant above my upper lip. (Try not to figure that one out)

They don’t know that they were not the only one afraid on their first day of school. I was afraid the next fifteen years would go by as quickly as the first five.

  

They don’t know that my favorite piece of art was always the ones held to the refrigerator by magnets.

They don’t know that I was more upset than they were when they discovered that Santa Claus wasn’t real

They don't know that "Yes", I really did want that last piece of pie..

They don’t know how many times I really let go when teaching them to ride a bike.

They don’t know how hard it was to let go when they first spent the night at friends.

They don’t know that I still watch them late at night to make sure they are breathing.

They don’t know their first love meant to me that one day they would no longer need me to hold their hand or to dry their tears.

They don’t know that I like they music they listen to.

They don’t know that late at night, when their not at home, every siren heard makes me stop breathing for just a second.

I am certain the list of what they don’t know could go on and on. The list may be as long as the list of things they think they know.

What I hope they know is faith; faith in the God of the universe, the same God that breathed the air into those tiny little lungs, what seemed like just a moment ago.

I hope they know I love them.