Every night is an opportunity to talk to her about something meaningful. After her bedtime story, as night closes in, I like to tuck her in tightly so that warmth and comfort are her companion when she sleeps, and I like to speak.
There she is, her features softened by the night light, her sleepy eyes still lit by the faint flame of curiosity. Her infant body noticeably tired by her will to navigate the day with vigor. She's lying down and she's ready to listen.
"Tell me about the good things," she says.
It all began when she was two years old. She was beginning to have a better grasp of the English language and she displayed a greater understanding towards what she was told. I started noticing her ability to recite what I would say. There were moments when I could see her mind processing it, deconstructing it and putting it back together. I could tell her that the sky was green and she would believe me.
There's immense power in that.
The use of language as a means to influence, inspire ideas and beliefs.
I think that is why I respect teachers so much. They have, at the tips of their tongues, an opportunity to inspire.
And that's the opportunity that I speak of.
I recall a conversation:
"Daddy, I don't like the rain"
"Why not?"
"I don't like the sound. I don't like to get wet."
"Ariela, do you see outside - how green the grass is? How tall the trees are? How beautiful the flowers are?"
"Yes. When I go to the park, sometimes I pick the flowers."
"Yes you do. Well, all of that - the green grass, the tall trees, the flowers - that's thanks to the rain."
"How?"
"Water is like their food. The rains helps everything grow. The more it rains, the more food they get, the more they grow. Rain is good. When we hear the rain, we smile - knowing that because of rain, everything out there is growing."
"Rain is good?"
"Yes, Ariela. Rain is good."
Her fear of rain dispelled by the use of words. Rain is good became her belief.
Beyond that, I recall another conversation:
"Daddy! At school, it started to rain!"
"Oh no!"
"And Daddy, we were all outside! We started getting wet. But Teacher Susan told us to go inside."
"That's good."
"Scarlett was scared. She said she was scared of the rain. But Daddy, I told her that rain is good. Rain makes the grass grow."
She passed her belief to someone else. Inspired someone else.
She is a blank canvas and I hold in my hand the paintbrush. Beliefs, ideas, opinions, thought patterns, even emotions are the paint colours. Strokes of that paintbrush would form who she would become and how the world would view her - a piece of art hanging on the walls of a Gallery waiting to be judged, to be critiqued.
So one night, I became overwhelmed with that idea that everything I say to her can shape her. After her second bedtime story, I tucked her and kissed her forehead - her sleepy eyes still lit by the faint flame of curiosity. There is something so intense about the quiet of the night. All the shadows and shades of black. Poor lighting hiding clarity. The faintest of noises sounding louder in the ears.
In a hushed voice, I began telling her what would become 'The Good Things'
I would tell her good things about herself. Things about her that makes us proud. Things about her that should make her proud. I would speak of the things that other people say of her, compliments that she would get from family and friends. Then, I would talk to her about the things that are important. Like being 'thankful for all that you have' and to be ‘grateful’ because ‘there are so many people out there that don’t have what you have’, to ‘have kind thoughts so you can do kinds things’ because ‘kindness is everything’. I would tell her that ‘there is no room for hate in your heart’ that ‘hatred is poisonous’ to ‘find reasons to smile because there can be too many reasons to cry’. Then we would end it by naming our favourite part of the day - in the hope that this would be her last thought as she drifts off to sleep, so that the good things became the things she dreamt about - the things that would slowly form pictures in her subconscious mind that she would see throughout her life.
I read somewhere that our subconscious can often be the voice of our parents. That in times of hardship, of intense difficulty, we will hear them speak telling us what to do, how to act, how to navigate through that situation. If that is true then I, as a parent, have the responsibility (the opportunity) to plant my voice inside of her head so she hears it speak long after I am gone. And as she gets older, as her intellectual understanding of life develops, the ‘good things’ have to become more complex. I realise this and therefore, I have needed to get in touch with what I believe in and what I deem to be important to help her on her journey. What is wonderful about this realization is that I am now awake to these ideals. I hear them, I speak them, I tell her and I live by them.
*Be kind. Kindness is everything. Smile for the world to see. Smile so wide that everyone smiles back. Find where the courage lives inside of you. Nurture it, feed it until it grows. Keep it ready because courage will carry you through. And remember, for as long as we live, we are here for you. To listen to you. To guide you. To always help you, for as long as we can.*
