Comments: The Child
© 04.20.07 By Elisa Williams

I have lost the ability to relate to who I was at ten years of age. I can remember how I was but I don't understand why I was. I can no longer understand the ten-year-old mind. Perhaps this is because I have gained wisdom with years. Or perhaps it is because I have lost an intuition and innocence all children are born with.

What fills a ten-year-old's head? Looking back now I would call it simple and frivolous. There was practically no worry there. Family problems were a stir soon forgotten. Not a lazy unconcerned attitude, but one excluding senseless distress. If I could not fix the problem, worrying wouldn't help. I have since forgotten how this is done.

Tomorrow was tomorrow and next year did not exist except in thoughts of hazy pleasure. I was content to let tomorrow take care of its own troubles. "Cross the bridge when you come to it" was my unspoken philosophy of life. Such shortsightedness, while potentially detrimental, often arrives at problem spots to discover them already dissolved by time and change.

Jobless and having little access to pocket money was a one modest problem. One second it was of great importance and the next of none at all. The things I wanted were generally forgotten in silent testimony of their unimportance. Today I have no lag time to be shown the nonessential nature of my material desires - to which my check book stands as a silent testimony.

The only true heros in my life were my parents. The flares of disobedience would go only so far before they ran up against that wall of conscience. Punishment was an aspect to be considered but stronger then the fear of punishment was the desire for approval. I loved to please my parents and though at times the darker side won out, there was a sincere desire to do the right thing.

When I thought on terms of right and wrong, it was Mommy and Daddy's right and wrong. I never thought beyond that because what they said was all I needed. Because I was willing to accept it, I could see that it worked out in life. This easy trust is no longer part of my life. I grew up enough to want to see things for myself and I've come to find there isn't as much behind the curtain as I thought there would be. The truth was always there and at ten I could easily embrace it.

I could be open with the people close to me because I didn't know how to hide and pretend. Any lie I told was so unconvincing I reserved falsehood for times when caught in the act. Gossip and spiteful lies in bitterness or retaliation were not a concept.

Pain was never foreign to me. It was simply a part of life. It would run out with the tears and be gone. I allowed myself to be comforted and the hurt was over before it could take on a darker and deeper aspect.

Love was a joyful and pure thing, never having been connected with selfish purposes. It was pleasurable to love and give and what I would gain was never a thought. Hate was never deadly. It was an injury to love, a tearful expression of childish dislike that could be forgotten within the week.

My physical aspects were of little to no importance and hardly taken into consideration. I grew up knowing I was loved and it was enough for me. I felt beautiful when I needed to and I never considered the idea that I wasn't.

I loved life. The ugly parts didn't bother me because I didn't know enough to let them. While I knew that the things and the people important to me were not eternal I did not let the possibility of disaster ruin the time I did have. Waking up on a sunny morning was enough for me; when it rained I wouldn't waste time waiting for the sun.