Bittersweet Evolution

Good evening Web Wanderers,

Today was the day the children suddenly lost their sheer fascination with me. Actually, it started last night, so let me regress...

Each night, since men are not allowed in the girls' rooms, I have been hosting star gazing sessions on the top floor balcony with the girls from individual rooms. It started out with a few of the girls seeing me taking the boys up to look at the moon with Michael's telescope, and quicker than wildfire, every girls' room was jockeying for a position. So each night, in the freezing cold, I've been sitting up there, helping the girls look at the craters on the moon, and using the opportunity to speak to each of them about the importance of believing in themselves and their dreams. Even if they didn't entirely understand what I was saying, they hung on every word I had to say. I figured even if they they didn't completely understand that evening, a seed was at least planted that would eventually bloom in the knowledge that they are indeed good enough to become the doctors, teachers, nurses, and astronauts they dream of becoming. Each night, I've had to eventually send the girls to bed because they would have stayed up there all night, alternating between looking at the moon and warming up in my arms, if I had allowed.

Then last night, the girls whose turn it was in the rotation came up for their astronomy lesson. Each was very excited to see the moon, but much less so in my conversation with them. I wrote their desire to quickly escape back downstairs to the cold evening air and was secretly quite pleased myself to escape the chill so early.

This morning, however, it became clear a metamorphic change had taken place. Jeny, one of the tickle bunnies, goes bananas every morning when she sees me; running up to me, jumping up and down to be picked up, and then using me as a personal jungle gym. Today when she saw me, she greeted me very politely and then returned to whatever it was that had her interest at the time. Then Ashika and Rajan, both of whom usually fight over who gets to stand on my feet this morning, gave me a similar welcome...A very warm good morning, and then racing off to their own activities.

Not exactly sure what to make of it (but not complaining either as my knees and back gave a mutual sigh of relief), I made my way up to the first home to interact with those children before walking them to school. As I arrived, I got the initial rush of "Hello, Father!" with warm hugs, but 5 minutes later, I suddenly realized that for the first time since I stepped onto that playground 1 1/2 weeks ago NOBODY was latched onto me. Nobody was vying for my affections. Nobody was showing off their hacky sack skills, or demanding that I watch them do a back flip. I was simply standing there watching the children happily playing amongst themselves, seemingly impervious to my presence.

Here I was, finally getting what I had been secretly wishing for for the last several days. So why was it so bittersweet? With all of my interactions with children in my adult life, I have been a novelty...Never more than a couple hours at a time, so I have always been the newest, biggest, most amazing thing they've ever seen. Somehow, in the last 24 hours, I became such a fixture in their lives that my presence no longer jolts them from their daily routine.

After a few moments of contemplation, I'm OK with that. Sure, there is instant gratification that comes from having children desperate for your attention, but there is a much deeper gratification when the children become so comfortable with you that they don't feel as if the moment is going to be lost. The lesson learned is that it doesn't mean they appreciate me any less, but rather they have installed me as an integral part of their lives. It's going to make leaving nearly impossible. I can count on the fingers of one hand the number of times I have cried in my adult life. On January 5th, I'll be moving on to my second hand.

I have other thoughts to share with you, but I think I shall end this entry on that note, and save the rest for another day.

All the best to you and yours,

Tom