They're Just Kids

 Sometimes I forget they’re just kids—

Especially the older ones.

They grow so quickly—

Sometimes taller than me.

They know so much about the world—

They act so tough.

So sometimes I forget they still like to do

The Freeze Dance or

The silly songs from Kindergarten or

Parachute games.

 

I was tasked with covering the parachute station at Field Day.

Oddly enough, I was nervous about the coverage.

I was worried about my voice being strong enough to carry,

I was worried that the parachute wouldn’t be big enough to host two classes of students at a time,

I was worried that students would get bored with the station—

Especially the older ones.

 

And I was wrong.

 

My voice held up.

Students crammed themselves around the edge of the parachute.

And everyone had a great time—

Awed by the lovely site of the parachute mushrooming in the air,

Squealing in delight as they ran under the parachute in a game of trainwreck.

 

In a world inundated by scary information.

In a world where it’s easy not to feel safe.

In a world forcing our children to grow up too quickly.

In a world that feels like its spinning out of control.

Kids are still kids.

We must remember that.

We must remember all that they don’t know—

All that they’ve yet to experience—

All the goodness that can be theirs—

And we must make a way to help them find that goodness in the midst of all else.

 

Our students go home for the summer today.

 

Oh God.

Keep them safe.

And let them be kids.

With freeze dances and freeze pops and parachutes.

Amen.