On a Saturday morning, I was making my usual journey up the main street of the town where I live, to run some errands. As it’s a tourist town, the streets were a little busier than usual, and I found myself trapped behind a family of four who were streeling along the footpath, at tourist pace.
I thought I’d shake them off when we reached a road crossing, as there is a shop on that crossing that’s crammed with delights for children. But they carried on up the path. I passed out the father, but the mother and her two little girls formed a chain on the footpath. I resigned myself to tucking in behind them. After all, I wasn’t in that much of a hurry.
Out of the Mouths of Babes
The middle girl in the chain turned to her mother and said, ‘Mum, when we’re bigger, this will be the olden days, won’t it?’ She was a shrimp of a child, around five or six, a small seven at most. How did her mother greet this wonderful display of abstract thought, of creativity, of imagination? With a muttered yes.
Maybe this child was a relentless talker, and the mother was simply weary from a morning of listening to constant chatter. Also, at that moment, the father turned abruptly and opened the door of a chip shop. ‘I’m getting something to eat,’ he announced. I imagined this behaviour also fed into the mother’s weariness. Either way, I wondered how many of these in different responses it would take before that child’s light was quenched.