I encountered two children in their birthday suits, in their semi-fenced backyard happily jumping on their trampoline. It was a sunny morning, and I was out walking my dog around the block when I encountered this innocent but shocking view. The boys, roughly around 2-5 years old, waved happily to me and asked what my dog’s name was while ignoring their three dogs chasing each other around the perimeter of the circular trampoline.
I encountered this scene often in the next coming weeks and, while bizarre to get used to, I found it endearing and a rare sight to see nowadays. With the rise of tablet-kids and pre-teens exposed to sexual innuendos and porn-induced fashion and body trends, two undressed children happily enjoying the summer sun was an outlier. In their world there was nothing else but play; no malice and no shame. I found myself trying to think when was the last time I felt that way. When did I last unabashedly enjoy being alive and being able to laugh without the consequence of living out the rest of the day?
I couldn’t remember when, but I knew that I experienced it multiple times in my childhood days. As I grew up and encountered relationships, felt new emotions, and created ambitions, along the way I forgot to listen to Me. The Me that was here first, before anything else. The young me, the child version of me, or whatever you may call it. This is not an original experience. As we grow, we are often told to ‘wise up’ or to be ‘more mature,’ and many of us equate that to leaving our childish tendencies behind.
Children can be selfish: demanding that their favourite toy be given at this very moment. Children can be annoying: bothering adults for attention to show ‘what they can do’. Children can be loud: crying when they are hurt or scared. As we turn into adults, we are taught to ‘fix’ these traits, and for good reason. It is not appealing to anyone involved to see an adult throw a tantrum in public (ahem Karens ahem). However along with these traits many of us forgot to value ourselves, in order to be selfless, agreeable, and quiet.
We forgot to say that we want to have a better life, and for our leaders to fix social crises now! We stop ourselves from stomping and flailing our arms and yelling “I DON’T WANT IT!” to whoever is in charge. We downplay our feelings and suffer in silence because we were discouraged to ask for attention. Our big feelings of excitement or sadness we assumed to be irrelevant to the world of serious people when, in fact, they should be celebrated or soothed. We forgot to cry when we are tired and overwhelmed, often exclusively reserving it for traumatic milestones in our lives.
Maybe we forgot how to live our lives like those two boys on the trampoline because we don’t consider ourselves children anymore. But are we happier for it? Is the child in me truly gone or buried somewhere, told to stay in the corner and be quiet? These are philosophical questions that many distinguished people and branches of studies have forever debated on, and I don’t have any answer to dutifully report to you. However, as I turned the corner of my street, leash in hand, my eyes lingered on the boys. Their laughs ringing in the silent waking neighbourhood. A small smile on my lips and a tinge of jealousy in my heart: I want to play too.