Our six year old gets on the bus at the end of our street, along with a number of other kids from the village.
One of the fathers is off work this week due to rain, and said to his daughters as he ushered them onto the coach yesterday, “See you, girls. And remember, this is the easiest time of your life!”
I shook my head and said, partly under my breath, “No, it isn’t.” But he said exactly the same thing to them again this morning. It’s just something he says. He glanced at me, perhaps expecting another disagreement this morning, but I can’t be bothered. You see, it’s a long story, and no one wants to hang around windy bus stops at the time of year.
Thing is, that throwaway line reminded me of something my own father often said to us when we were kids: “Childhood is the best time of your life.” He explained that childhood is the only true freedom, that everything gets worse once you endure the responsibility of adulthood, that I should make the most of every day of sunny childhood before the depths of despair known as the rest of my entire life.
My mother did a slightly different thing. Whenever an adult asked me if I liked school I would answer with a fairly lacklustre response, and my mother would always correct me. She’d inform me, and the adult, that in fact I loved school. I’m pretty sure she convinced me, too. If the uninspired structure and discipline of primary school was something I ‘loved’, then I wasn’t to hope for anything more.
It was a great surprise to me, therefore, that my life grew immeasurably better almost immediately after leaving school. Turns out, childhood wasn’t the best/easiest/sunniest time of my life. I happen to be one of those fortunate people who enjoy the freedoms along with the responsibilities of adulthood.
Telling our kids that life is only going to get worse is a damn shitty thing to teach them, don’t you think? Everyone’s life pans out differently and no doubt for some, those few years of childhood are in fact the only decent ones. Then there’s this thing called rose tinted glasses, or amelioration in hindsight, or perhaps it’s just looking at the lives of your own kids, thinking how nice it would be to not have the worry of bills and bosses. But kids have different worries. They have canteen lines and teachers and school rules and they spend all day alongside other partially formed individuals who say thoughtless things.
When I had a pregnant belly, and later when I had a newborn and a toddler, strangers would often tell me that these are the best years and although they feel lengthy, they go by so quickly, so I was urged to make the most of them. This, to me, was another version of pointless regret for time passed. Sure, it’s true. You only get one chance at those early years, but the fact is, you only get one chance at every single day.
Besides, does anyone really know how to make the most of every single moment? What exactly does it mean I should be doing?
In the meantime, I’ll do my best in the moment, remember times past with fondness where possible and look forward to the future.
