It was a quiet evening. My wife and I were sitting by the beach and watching the sun go down. We had dropped off our son, a couple of hours earlier, at one of the premier institutes of India for a three-week residential program for the gifted. We knew we’ll miss him for the next three weeks but we also knew that he had worked hard for it and that it was a great opportunity for him. We were happy … a deep sense of satisfaction filled our hearts.
It’s hard to explain that happiness. It’s somewhat like the happiness that fills your heart when you are watching a breathtaking sunset—you know it’s not meant to last in reality but it may well continue to last forever in your memory. The next three weeks, it’ll only be the two of us and not the three that we are used to. It’s a breathtaking sunset for the two of us, but for our son it’s the dawn of a new life. It’s where he gets his first lesson on how to fly.
Meanwhile, my wife and I watch the sunset and wait … and hope … that our teenage boy learns his lesson with all his heart and makes this world a better place. Never before did I truly understand the words of Kahlil Gibran.
Your children are not your children.
They are the sons and daughters of Life’s longing for itself.
They come through you but not from you,
And though they are with you yet they belong not to you.
You may give them your love but not your thoughts,
For they have their own thoughts.
You may house their bodies but not their souls,
For their souls dwell in the house of tomorrow,
which you cannot visit, not even in your dreams.
You may strive to be like them,
but seek not to make them like you.
For life goes not backward nor tarries with yesterday.
You are the bows from which your children
as living arrows are sent forth.
The archer sees the mark upon the path of the infinite,
and He bends you with His might
that His arrows may go swift and far.
Let your bending in the archer’s hand be for gladness;
For even as He loves the arrow that flies,
so He loves also the bow that is stable.
