All I Can Think About

All I can think about,

Is the way parents often comfort their children at the beginning of long trips.

At the precipice of new and unknown experiences

As they stand facing a daunting and unfamiliar task.

And the parent murmurs platitudes and reassurances:

It will be ok.

Everything is going to be fine.

I am here with you.

It is scary now, but we must.

You must.

All I can think about,

Is when my father first taught my brother and I how to swim.

Although small and infinitely optimistic,

even we, as children, could suffer the fear of unknown.

Unable to fully comprehend the realities of drowning or floating,

But sensing the fine line between here and there; now and soon; alive or dead.

Spurred forward only by our father's adamant reassurance that:

The water was fun and refreshing,

That something new could be exciting, could bring opportunity rather than despair.

That forging into the unknown was necessary for us.

All I can think about,

Are parents whispering hot reassurances into dusty, sweaty little ears.

Are young children, bleary eyed and weary from marching across and into something new

Cradled in the arms of

Holding the hands of

Following in the footsteps of

Those who have placed faith in the unknown.

All I can think about,

Are small minds facing large and insurmountable realities.

Like:

It will not be ok.

Everything is not fine.

I am not there with you.

It is scary now that we have.

For the first time, comprehending the reality of drowning.