TOWARD THE END of the summer I accidentally overheard a conversation that shook me out of my state of blissful ignorance. When we are children we seldom think of the future. This innocence leaves us free to enjoy ourselves as few adults can. The day we fret about the future is the day we leave our childhood behind.
When did I first worry about the future? When I wondered if my intense aloneness and set-apartness was eternal and why they plagued me seemingly infinitely more than others. 7 or 8. Because at the same time I was realizing the oppression that was "family" would last until I could leave home. Graduation. Another 10 years.
Did I lose myself in play, whimsy, beauty? Yes. Like most children. But no child should learn so early to treasure, to cherish these moments as rare gems when they ought to be as plentiful as sunny days or the hairs on our heads.
