Last update: 21 September, 2015
"A child is a being who has been loaned to us for a crash course on how to love someone else more than ourselves, how to change our worst faults to give him the best examples, how to learn to be brave” – Jose Saramago
Raising a child is not an easy task and parents sometimes feel they have lost faith. We fail to channel all our efforts to support him, motivate him or simply accompany him.
Sometimes we feel too tired, because educating is more difficult than we were told and all our personal commitments do not help.
But remember that, since he was born, your child came into the world in need of affection and eager to experiment with you. We know that this life is complicated, and being able to count on unconditional love from parents helps us to walk with our heads held high. So, tell him that you love him: with kisses, with words, or with a look ... The important thing is that he knows.
Maybe you both need a little courage for that today we want to dedicate this article to all fathers and mothers who care about their children. They are your treasure, and they are our future.
The father forgets
“Listen, my son: I will whisper these words to you while you sleep, with a little hand under my cheek and my hair stuck to my wet forehead.
I went into your room alone. A few minutes ago, while I was reading the newspaper, a wave of remorse flooded me. I felt guilty, and for this I am here ...
I thought about this, son: I got mad at you.
I yelled at you for not cleaning your shoes. I yelled at you because you dropped something on the ground.
I scolded you at breakfast for turning the food. You swallowed without chewing well. You kept your elbows on the table. You put too much butter on the bread.
But when you were going to play and I was about to leave the house to take the train, you turned around and waved at me: "Hi, daddy!". And I frowned and said, "Keep that back straight!"
The same scene was repeated in the afternoon. On the way home I saw you playing on your knees in the street. You ripped your pants, and I humiliated you in front of your friends by forcing you to come home with me.
"Pants are expensive, if you had to buy them you would certainly be more careful!".
And remember, later, when I was reading in the living room and you walked in shyly, with a fearful look? When I looked up from the newspaper, irritated that you interrupted me, and you wavered at the door.
"What do you want now?" I told you abruptly.
"Nothing ..." you replied, but you started running and threw your arms around my neck to kiss me. Your little arms hugged me with an affection that God made blossom in your heart and that not even the neglect of others can exhaust.
And then you went to sleep, accompanied by the sound of your little steps on the stairs.
Well, my son: shortly after the newspaper fell from my hands, and I was invaded by a terrible fear. What was happening to me? What was that new habit?
The habit of finding faults, of scolding. This was my reaction to your being a child. And not because I didn't love you, but because I expected too much of you. I measured you according to the criteria of my mature years.
There are so many beautiful, good and right things in your character. That little heart of yours is as big as the sun rising over the hills.
You proved it with your spontaneous urge to run and kiss me tonight. And there is nothing else that matters, my son. I came up to your bed, in the dark, and knelt, full of shame.
They are petty justifications, mine, and I know you wouldn't understand them if I gave them to you when you're awake.
But from tomorrow I'll be a real daddy. I will be your companion, I will suffer when you suffer and I will laugh when you laugh. I'll bite my tongue when I'm about to utter impatient words. I will keep repeating to myself, as if it were a ritual: “He is just a child, a small child”.
I'm afraid I figured you were a man.
But as I look at you now, my son, crouched and exhausted in your cot, I see that you are still a newborn. It seems like yesterday that you were still in your mother's arms, with your head resting on her shoulder.
I have demanded too much of you. "
of Livingston Larned
