If I Were a Child

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If I were a child in the 2020s, what would I believe about the world? Based on the evidence, could I believe that most people are decent and honest, that police officers are helpers, that the grownups in my world have the power to keep me safe? Would I view the leaders of my country's government with respect? Would the president of the United States be my hero? Would I trust that I’m safe at school--when I’m allowed to go to school, that is--safe from invisible disease and visible violence?

If I were a child in the 2020s, would I understand that my teacher is a real person, not just a talking head on my computer? Would I remember what the bottom of Grandma’s face looks like and how the inside of her house smells? Or would I wonder if I could ever hug her again and how long I must wait before we can play our favorite board games in her living room instead of on her front porch? 

When I was a child in the 1950s, there were things to worry about, like behaving at school, because if you didn’t, you’d be in bigger trouble when you got home; like doing your chores and your homework because it was expected; like being kind because it was the right way to treat people? Oh, sure! We had polio and the Cold War to cause anxiety, but, by the time I was four, Jonas Salk had invented a vaccine, and the Cold War was far, far away--or at least that’s what parents in the fifties said to reassure their children. 

When I was a child, we watched Walter Cronkite to learn what was happening in the world, and we had no reason to believe he wasn’t telling the truth. We ate all our meals at home, but that was because my parents couldn’t afford restaurant dining for a family of six. We played outside with our friends because it was fun, not because we weren’t allowed inside each other’s homes. 

What images will be permanently scorched upon the innocent brains of today’s children? A black man calling for his mama as his breath is snuffed out by a white policeman’s knee. Masses of people marching, carrying signs, and shouting slogans--again--because after a hundred years or so, they still haven’t been heard. The twisted, orange face of a madman throwing childish tantrums. The hallowed halls of my “united” republic invaded by thugs. Fist bumps and elbow bumps replacing hugs and kisses. Ordinary, everyday citizens believing blatant lies. Adults creating problems instead of solving them.

Who will I become? today's child wonders. Will there be a place for me in a broken world such as this? Dare I hope that beauty will one day emerge from the ashes of my ravaged childhood?

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