Toddler language mix-ups can be cute. Sometimes they are profound. This year Mister has been teaching me much about the world as I ride along on his rapid and sometimes bumpy road to language proficiency.
A long-lost favorite CD was rescued from one of the deep, dark and sticky corners of the van. We popped it in last Tuesday and have been rocking out ever since. For songs he especially likes, Mister requests a repeat. And then a repeat of the repeat. This goes on until Sis begins to groan and hold her forehead. Despite her protests, he will ask again, “Mom, can we start from the end?”
I image if that were true. I choose a happy ending and work backwards. And I wonder. What would be different if I lived my life in reverse, in permanent retrospect. Would I be more relaxed with proof in hand that the things I fretted over never came to pass? Would I move through my day with gentle patience, feeling the truth of the oft-mentioned admonishment of fleeting moments? Would I be unencumbered, images of the future having tipped fate’s hand, blessing me with razor sharp focus and purpose towards higher goals? Or would I be a tired shadow, the magic of youth and the surprises of time drained prematurely of their brilliance?
Can we start from the end? I thank the Lord that we cannot. That my little family and I are bound to the sequence of time, that we have no choice but to walk together up the path. In darkness. In daylight. Slowly, I pray, towards the other end.
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