I babysat my five-year-old niece and three-year-old nephew again this week. Every time I spend a day with them, I come home feeling like I’ve learned something. Not because they’re trying to teach me. But because they haven’t yet forgotten how to be human.
They laugh with their whole bodies. Not polite laughter. Not the little chuckle adults give out of courtesy. I’m talking about the kind of uncontrollable belly laugh that makes it hard to breathe. The kind that makes you forget where you are because you’re completely lost in the joy of the moment.
As I watched them, I realized something that surprised me. I honestly can’t remember the last time I laughed like that. It’s probably been more than fifteen years.
Somewhere along the way, adulthood replaced those carefree laughs with smiles, polite chuckles, and the occasional “that’s funny.”
What happened?
My niece and nephew also have no trouble saying, “I love you.” Not because they’re expecting anything in return. They simply say it because it’s what they’re feeling. When we’re playing together, they don’t wonder whether it’s the right time to say it. They don’t worry about being misunderstood or appearing vulnerable.
They just say it.
And I say it back.
When they get hurt, they cry.
When they’re happy, they laugh.
When they’re curious, they ask questions.
When they want something, they simply ask.
They don’t always get what they want.
But that doesn’t stop them from asking.
That made me think about adults.
How often do we stay silent because we’re afraid of hearing “no”?
We don’t ask someone out because they might reject us.
We don’t ask for help because we don’t want to appear weak.
We don’t ask for a promotion because we’re afraid we haven’t earned it.
We don’t tell someone how much they mean to us because we’re afraid they might not feel the same way.
Somewhere between childhood and adulthood, many of us stop expressing what we’re feeling and start protecting ourselves from disappointment.
We become experts at self-rejection.
We answer “no” before the other person ever has the chance.
Children haven’t learned that habit yet. And maybe that’s one of their greatest gifts. They remind us that vulnerability isn’t weakness. It’s honesty.
Watching my niece and nephew this week made me wonder if growing older is supposed to mean becoming more sophisticated. Or whether, sometimes, it should mean rediscovering the courage we had as children.
The courage to laugh until our stomach hurts.
To say “I love you” without overthinking it.
To cry when we’re hurting.
To ask for what we want, even if the answer might be no.
Perhaps wisdom isn’t becoming less like children.
Perhaps it’s remembering the parts of childhood that were worth keeping.
Because the older I get, the more I realize that children don’t just need adults to teach them about life.
Sometimes…
Adults need children to remind us how to live.