The world I want for my children is green and vibrant. Full of diverse creatures, none ever extinct, big and small and soaring. Rainbows and unicorns and dancing in open fields of striking yellow sunflowers tall enough to reach the saturated sky.
The world I want for my children is a fairy tale.
In this story, nothing tragic occurs. What veers to the left is easily righted. Innocence prevails. Bound by peace and love and a general sense of understanding. There are no bullies, no fights, no feelings hurt, no hard questions to answer, no hospital stays, no grisly scenes on the TV news. Everyone is friends, hands held, rejoice, Kumbaya. The fairy tale is rather saccharine, but even more naive.
The reality of the situation is life. It’s not inherently bad, but it’s hard. Confusing and complicated. Dirty and gritty. Sweat-stained and broken bones. Every day is another reason to hide away a little further. There are horrible people doing horrible things, saying, plotting horrible things. Safety and security pulled out like a rug. What kind of world did I bring these children into? What have I done? It’s a fight not to be consumed.
My children, right now, see mostly the fairy tale. That’s the beauty of childhood.
Sometimes, I wish that’s all I could see, too. The world I want for my sons and daughter isn’t real, but there are fragments that can be. There still might lie a touch of it swaying, reaching, against the bright blue like sunflowers.