Picasso or Einstein? Can’t seem to pick who was the marvel of the past century can you? Neither can I. If there was some way to find the key element in these two sods that made them die assuredly empty and live completely full, I would be typing it down right this instant.
But all I can do is surmise. Surmise that the entity that touched these fine gentlemen into becoming the icons they are to us today is still surging through the cosmos, waiting to tap through a child; perhaps even the child napping on your lap right now as you read this.
When children are born, we as parents tend to go out of our way to ensure they have the best from us, even if the world isn’t in with us in that gamble. We want them to be exceptional, and we truly believe they are. But what can tell you about that little spark, waiting for the right trigger to pull them into the best they can possibly be?
An attention span of a fly or even that of a dog can ratify the truth that your child is not of the mundane and subtle. Any child that chooses not to conform to the weird slowness of time or the sullen quiet of adventures in waiting is a child destined to search for their own pride-lands, forgive my Mufasa showing.
I would want to see my daughter be the best she can possibly be, given the circumstance of things. In the dark glow of falling governments, corrupt leaders, failing systems and a toppling lack of kindness today, the only thing I would appreciate giving to my child is the spark of being who they truly want to be.
Alan Watts, Wangari Mathai, Charlie Chaplin, Eleanor Roosevelt, Robert Frost, Rosa Parks, Gandhi, Katherine Johnson, and so many more folks who took the world by the shoestring and tossed the bugger around to their whim; these are the people I respect, and want my daughter to know of. That they fought to create a better world for themselves, much better than the one we see.
And that it made all the difference in ours too.