Oh, For The Days of Youthfull Immortality

Some days I believe the most accurate picture of ourselves comes not from the reflection staring back at us in the mirror hanging on the wall, nor from neatly cropped images perfectly pasted into a dusty, forgotten photo-album, but instead from our own children.

Some parents, when they look at their children, see only the obvious familial traits - grandma’s smile, mom’s eyes, dad’s nose - yet there is so much more there to see if you only look for it. In watching our children we can see every aspect of our very own lives as they relive our past, discovering the world for the very first time as if it were new…

The other night I was blessed with a special glimpse of my own reflection as I helped my daughters set a few things up in their rooms. We had just finished setting up the stereo they received as a Christmas gift, and they were listening to one of their new CD’s as I finished hanging a couple of coat hooks up in anonymity.

I don’t know the name of the song they were listening to, nor do I know who the artist was, but as I watched them sitting on the floor with their legs crossed in front of them, eyes closed, I couldn’t help but see myself in them. I couldn’t help but recognize the intensity of the emotion on their faces, knowing that each and every word of the lyrics had been written especially for them as they sang along, taking care to replicate even the slightest nuance in the voice coming from the speakers hanging on the wall.

I knew right then and there that they were on an emotional journey, looking into their own hearts as only a teenager can, exactly the way I did when I sat in front of my own stereo, knowing full well that every song ever written or sung by the Beatles had been written or sung specifically with me in mind - they must have been, how else could the words have had such a powerful effect on me? After all, I was the first person ever to experience the emotional ups and downs caused by school, peers, and parents that couldn’t possibly hope to understand what I was going through, wasn’t I?

I remember all too well the days of youthful immortality; days when it seemed as if time was standing still. Days when it seemed as if I would never obtain the status of adulthood and the all “freedoms and privileges” that went with it. Days when I just knew the world was against me. Days when I knew I was king, and the world was at my beck and call. Days when I could not be defeated. Days when I was immortal, either because I was on top of the world, or because I thought the pain would never end…

I watched as my children sang with their eyes closed, an emotional intensity on their face from the song that must have been written for them, and I could not help but smile. They were taking the first steps down a road that I had long since forgotten about; a road well known to most, though it does not exist on any map. A road that beckons to everyone at a time in their life when they are too old to be children, yet not old enough to be an adult. A road plainly labeled “No Parents Allowed,” forcing me to watch through the trees and brambles that line the ditch on either side, that I may be there to catch them should they stumble and fall.

A road that steals the immortality of youth with the cunning and skill of a thief in the night, leaving behind naught but the scrapes and bruises gathered along the way, and a fading memory of what once was…

I watched as my children sang with their eyes close, and smiled as my heart warmed at the sight - a perfect mirror image of myself at their age.

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