From a time of innocence. My children.
It is a bittersweet thing to look back at lives so young and impressionable that once were responsible for providing for, for encouraging, moulding, shaping, teaching. Times of regret. Times of great pride and joy. Always times of love. That never diminishes. And a time of letting go, to blossom as they will, in their own way. Following a path of their own choosing.
They are now all in their late twenties, one just turned thirty (just 14 months between each). There are always regrets. Could I have done more? But even while I worked to provide, they had a full time mother, always there for them 24×7 until they finished schooling. And I (as far as I recollect) was always there for them at the end of the day, to read to/with them, take them to their evening/weekend activities, tutor them through difficult subject matters. Direct them to do right.
Still there are regrets. Did I do enough? Could I have done more? Should I have done some things differently? The age old problem of parenting.
The biggest regret is that they have had to leave that age of innocence behind, because the one thing I could not do was to provide them with a caring world, a fair world, a world of boundless opportunity for fulfilment. A world where goodness prevails and greed and evil are subdued. Sadly, such is not our world, at all. And for a parent there is a never-ending concern for those we brought into it. But that will always be so, for as long as there is a mankind that knows the difference between good and evil, recognises and chooses the former but remains powerless to dismiss the latter.
But time goes on, and I now have grandchildren – and a fresh set of concerns to add to those I have carried for so many years now.