Help
Sign In
Our babies cried when we left them and we cry when they leave us. Echoes. Proud almost to arrogance then, we pushed them about in their carriages. Dutifully, wearily now, they push us about in our chairs.
Our children don't know us as we are now. Less do they know us as we were. Oh, how I wish they could have known us as we were. Do rou think they would recognize their young selves in our young selves? I wish they could have seen us in all our clumsiness and selfishness, which is so like their own clumsiness and selfishness right now. There's another echo for you.
We believed the fairy tales we told our children and we loved them beyond reason even when we were green and bungling about it. We were children loving our children. And that's who we are still.
