I was waiting on the train at the airport when a child’s voice caught my attention. “No, look here. It will be here.” I looked just in time to see a little fellow sitting in a stroller, slightly older hands gently guiding his face in the direction of the oncoming train.
The stream of passengers surged forward as the train came to a stop. I boarded quickly, focused on finding a good spot from which to both hold on and brace myself without drawing too much attention to the effort. We were underway to the first concourse when I noticed him again, standing this time, little hands wrapped around a pole. He looked around the train, squatted for a bit, then stood back up to look again, bright blue eyes studying his surroundings.
I smiled when he looked my way, captivated by the sweet face framed by blond hair. He appeared to be about three years old, a tiny traveler with not a care in the world and nothing to do other than enjoy the ride.
Standing with my shoulder pack braced against the wall, my mind traveled back to another time, when I was a blond-haired blue-eyed child. I have fond memories of those days, of play and new experiences, of discovering the wonders of the world around me. We never ventured far from home, but I always enjoyed the journeys, made possible by the ever watchful parents who shouldered the burden of life’s logistics so my sister and I could enjoy childhood as long as possible.
The little fellow and his companions left the train at the first stop. I smiled again as a tiny voice chirped, repeating after the automated recording, “Don’t block the door, Mama.”
Enjoy these times, Little One. Before you know what happened, you will be one of us, carrying your own ticket and backpack and a load of other baggage that comes with being all grown up in the Twenty-first Century. May you somehow never lose the childlike wonder of green grass and blue skies, of trains and planes and new places.
And thank you for reminding me to look for the wonder myself.