Innocence

Tonight, I was babysitting my five-year-old sister and we were playing with this cupcake set she got for Christmas where you can decorate fake cupcakes with dry-erase markers and fake candles that stick on top with velcro. When we were done decorating, I pretended to blow out my candle and she told me to make a wish, so I did. She stared at me for a second and asked me what my wish was. I told her with a smile that I couldn't say because then it wouldn't come true but she kept prodding so I told her that I had wished that she always be happy, even when life makes her sad. She smiled and said, "I AM always happy, so your wish came true!"

For a second, it made my eyes water a little. And thinking about it now, they do again. And still, I can't quite tell why that is. Is it because I'm glad she's happy and that I want to believe that she always will be? Or is it because I know that sometimes she will be sad, and I won't be able to help her...and that she's too young and innocent to realize that. Definitely the latter.

I have definitely grown to love my sister, and I don't feel bad saying it like that, that it took time. It was a shock at first to have this new thing that was 15 years younger than me floating around, asking questions, crawling, walking, living. But now that she's a little older, I can't help but love and appreciate her purity, innocence, and love of life. It makes me sad to look at her sometimes. Now, she's so full of happiness and curiosity, and I fear that over time she'll decay and wither like almost everyone else. And maybe what I fear most is that if she does reach that stage at some point, I won't even know the difference. By then, I'll have forgotten how she was as a child that enjoyed decorating fake cupcakes and talking about words she couldn't spell. Maybe I'll have decayed, too.

Before I tucked her in, we read some books in her bed. One was about a girl that was teased because her favorite color was pink, but black was "in" (these books are written for five-year-olds so the symbolism is not what you would call "vivid"). Basically, the pink-loving-girl went through a depressed outcast stage and then found a girl that liked the color purple and they became friends and realized she doesn't have to like the color black to be happy. I tried to describe the moral to my sister, London, telling her to remember this story if she gets teased at school or ever feels alone. She responded by saying, "I don't get teased at school" and I responded back with, "well, maybe in the future you will." And she said, "no I won't." And that was that.

Sometimes her innocence is frustrating, most of the time, it's eye-opening. I hope she remembers these moments one day. I hope she's always happy. Even when she's not.