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Copyrights reserved by the author. If you are in doubt, please click on 'Copyrights' and read the details. FROM THE MOUTH OF A WEE CHILD. A true story by Helen D. Culican
I'm a 33 year-old single mother of one child, Patrick, who turned five just last month. Since his third Christmas, I've told him that its true meaning is to celebrate Jesus' birthday. Having spoken often to Patrick about God, the concept is not alien to him. I've explained that Santa is not just 'a jolly old man' in red clothes with a fat belly and long white beard, he is God's special helper. God has a particular soft-spot for children and watches over all the kids in the world throughout the year. Then, at the end of every year when it comes time to celebrate Jesus' birthday, God tells Santa which children have been kind of heart and good of soul, and Santa delivers special rewards to all of those in whom God is well proud. That's why Santa lives at the North Pole, so he can have an uninterrupted direct line to Heaven whenever God needs to speak with him. I thought that perhaps this context would instil real Christmas spirit into my son's heart without taking any fun out of the myth for him, and it was a nice way of tying the two elements together, using simplicity that a child could easily grasp. Naturally, Patrick accepted my story completely. A few short weeks ago, he accompanied me to the local shopping centre for our weekly grocery trek. It was midday when we arrived, so we went to a little café and bought hot chips for lunch, before heading into the supermarket. As we sat at a table, Patrick observed all the Christmas decorations that had been erected around the centre since the previous week, and said, "Mummy, are they getting ready for Christmas now?" "Yes darling," I replied. "Is it gonna be Christmas tomorrow Mummy?" he asked. "No sweetie, not tomorrow. There are still a few weeks left before Santa comes; plenty of time to think of something you'd really like him to bring you. So have a good long think about it, because you've been an especially kind-hearted little boy this year, and I'm sure Jesus has told Santa how proud He is of you. Have you been thinking about it already, or not yet?" I asked, rather casually. Without any hesitation whatsoever, Patrick answered, "Nah, --- I'm gonna tell Santa to give my presents to other little kids who don't have any toys, coz I've got enough toys now." It shouldn't have surprised me, as this wasn't the first time that Paddy had displayed uncanny selflessness for one so young. Nevertheless, it came so unexpectedly that tears pooled unbidden in my eyes, for the pride I felt towards him at that moment. I had absolutely no response except to lovingly stroke the side of his face, while trying in vain to choke back my tears. An elderly lady was sitting at the table next to ours, and, when she heard what Patrick said, her jaw dropped; a positively flabbergasted expression on her face. "Is he your son?" she asked, looking from Patrick to me with a friendly smile. I was still trying to compose myself, too afraid even to breathe lest it completely release the valves in my tear ducts. "Yes he is," I noticeably quavered. "You must be so proud," she continued. "I have never, in all my years, heard such unselfishness coming from the mouth of a wee child! How old is he?" I told her and she shook her head in utter disbelief. Then she looked at Patrick once again. "You are a very nice young man. I hope Santa brings something special for your precious heart, this year." She said. Then the elderly lady stood up to leave, and, as she pushed her chair back under the table, she said, "That just made my day. Have a lovely Christmas, both of you." I thanked her and reciprocated the goodwill. By now I'd totally given up trying to control my emotions, and the tears trickled down my face like a veritable bloody waterfall! Paddy asked why I was crying, so then I had to try and explain the difference between happy and sad tears. With that, he wrapped his little arms around my neck and told me not to cry; because he loved me. Beautiful little boy! The moral of my story being that my son isn't the only child on the planet who comes out with priceless comments, such as you've just read, but unfortunately we notice their misbehaviour more than their good behaviour. The truth is that many parents don't give kids, especially younger kids, enough credit to show us 'grown-ups' what they're really capable of thinking. Children, by nature, are incredibly inquisitive; that's how they learn. They're also very perceptive, for that's how they remember. If we, as adults, brush aside their incessant questions with unintelligent answers or worse still, no answers at all, they are denied the opportunity to develop a deeper sense of themselves, and the world around them. Many of us are too preoccupied, and too busy, to deal with the constant questions of our children, and they are subsequently swatted away like so many bothersome flies. We assume they won't understand the answers anyway, so we either don't bother at all, or we invent infantile answers that teach them absolutely nothing. I have been driven many times to the point of mental exhaustion from my son's constant questions; about life, the universe, and everything, and although I always answer him as frankly but simply as possible, I never truly imagined my input would register much comprehension in his young mind. However, Patrick has proven, time and again, that he retains much of what I tell him. It does sink in, a lot more so than many of us are willing to acknowledge. Don't be irritated when your child asks questions that you assume are too grown-up for them to grasp; just answer them anyway. The work that you put into answering properly will be miniscule compared to the rewards that will surely come sooner, rather than later. The indescribable pride your children bestow upon you as a result of your efforts will be without equal. That day in the shopping centre was one of those 'snapshot' moments in life that I will forever draw warmth and strength from, whenever I need it. It is a moment in time that my memory can always cherish, no matter how dark and ominous our journey appears in times of turmoil and uncertainty. When I watch the nightly news bulletins during this particularly troubled period in world history, I am given hope for my son's future; through him. There is indeed potential for this world if we but take the time to talk to our kids, and I mean really talk to them, without being dismissive or patronizing. Their minds are like little sponges that dote on our every word for at least the first five years of their lives, and these are indisputably the most impressionable years of their psychological development. We will never have so much power over the minds of our children as we do in those first few years, so why aren't more of us using this power to its best advantage? How intelligent are we really, if we can only think to use negative mind-control through intimidation, subordination, and fear, to modify their behaviour? If we truly wish our children to live in a world, free of the turmoil it currently endures, then the change must begin and end with them. We must go back to basics and teach our children, by example, the one fundamental rule for peace and harmony: treat all people as you would like them to treat you. It's not necessary to be religious to practise that; it's just common courtesy. Sometimes it's not easy, but nothing truly worthwhile in life ever is! The End
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