I want this place to be beautiful for them

I wonder what to keep from my children, and what to share with full transparency and honesty.

I wonder when to reveal the raw, heartbreaking truth of our humanity, and when to shelter them, protect their innocent minds, their tender hearts.

How much should I share about why there are piles of flowers on the side of the road? The road that we drive down every time we go to town, school, anywhere but here, really. Do I tell them of the four young lives lost and the two forever altered by the tragic car accident that happened on Friday evening? How would that impact their little nervous systems?

I wonder what to keep from my children and what to share openly, with full transparency and honesty.

The world is at least fifty percent terrible and fifty percent beautiful, someone once said. Half-full and half-empty. My thoughts take me to India where those fifty percents are scrambled together, all of it co-existing on one dusty rickshaw laden road, one chaotic marketplace in a riot of color.

It’s different here. Feels like more of a choice what to expose them to. But also, we are not in control.

When my daughter comes home from second grade wtih explicit sex questions, I wonder what to keep from her and what to share. Her question doesn’t necessarily merit the answer. Her curiosity doesn’t necessarily merit knowing.

Who am I to be her truth keeper? And—who am I not to be?

I want my children to know the truth, but only the version that they’re ready for. Idealistic? Yes. Unrealistic? Also yes.

But, I want this place to be beautiful for them. Only beautiful, even though that’s not the full truth.