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Imagine if we all could love the world as much as we love our children. If we had permission to be as proud and expressive and enthralled with each other and our daily lives as we do with these little ones, these wise children who come to teach us that simple lesson of love that we mistake to be only for them.

On the night before we were to tearfully release our youngest to the big world of kindergarten, the teacher held a parents night where we each brought something from nature that represents our child. As one of the parents who had forgotten this odd assignment, I quickly improved and brought the wind, describing how my son is this energized and energizing burst of light and enthusiasm at every thing and every one in his life, inspiring and lifting and refreshing all around him, filling up a room or a yard or a car with his exuberance. Then how he sometimes unexpectedly dies down to an angelic tickling whisper licking around our ears and snuggling in close, making the whole world slow down and listen to the sudden silence and wonder what brought such Peace. Sarah, my wife, described him as the sun; radiant and warm and life-giving.

BALLADS OF LOVE

Around the circle, each parent described their little cricket, their birds nest, their grass, their eagle or butterfly or dead-bug collection… with equal adoration and admiration and respect. Men with whom in the parking lot I had been comparing table saws and retirement savings plans became teary and poetic, composing heartfelt love ballads to their children. Women gushed and sighed, and the teacher smiled in full acknowledgment of the magic and beauty of every one of our best-child-ever children.

We all walked out feeling blessed to have this amazing group of kids about to be part of us for our life, and to have been drawn into such an open and deep opportunity to display our love and wonder for our children. Then I started to wonder why it’s just for our children that we can be so open and public about our passions and beauty, and even then why it takes a specially-designed space and activity to draw it out so purely.

What about my wife – does she not deserve the same? With the exception of our wedding, when have I so openly expressed to anyone but her my deep-soul love and admiration and flesh-desire and all-encompassing awe that she would be so fully a part of me? And why is that my buddies – the same friends who would happily indulge me over several beers in a lamentation of our problems – would probably be rolling their eyes by the second or third sentence of such a ballad?

And that’s just the start. When in our society are we encouraged and supported to shout out to the world that we love our jobs or friends or pretty much anything? We’re allowed and encouraged and even rewarded for voicing the negative – bitching about the boss or wife, loudly protesting any cause in the street, complaining to fellow parents about belligerent children or overload. Comedians make their living doing it; coworkers garner power and popularity for it; politicians get elected for it.

But there’s precious few spaces to gush about good things. Blogs for one – that’s one reason they’re so popular for us writers. Songs, poems, and artwork are another venue, though still one can easily get labeled as too thick or gushy or sentimental. Vancouver Canucks games and Bon Jovi concerts are the single most open venue for joyful screaming and expression in our rigid society, and one of the main reasons that people pay $50 or $200 to see or hear something once that they could just as easily enjoy at home.

I say enough of being reserved. Enough of hiding happiness and Joy just in case someone else doesn’t feel as good or feel comfortable with hearing about it. If I love you, I’m gonna tell you. If I feel Joy about the rains coming across the fields, I’m gonna whoop. When I wanna kiss my woman or hug my friend or laugh out loud in a grocery store, I’m not going to stop and worry if it’s OK. Joy is always OK. Beauty is always in fashion, and Love is always the right choice.

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Photo: author Rick Juliusson and son