A Child's Wisdom

My little girl plopped herself in my lap, destroying any hope I had of reading the newspaper. I smoothed down her blonde ringlets as her gray eyes stared earnestly into my face.

"Daddy," she lisped earnestly, "What does love look like?"

Taken aback by this question I could think of no answer for my child. Should I explain to her the "birds and the bees," or did she want a more fanciful answer?

"Darling, Sarah, why do you ask?"

She furrowed her brow, causing her youthful face to wizen in the most amusing fashion. My eyes sparkled with unvoiced laughter as she considered carefully.

"Do you promise not to tell Mommy?" I nodded my assent. "Well Neil Wilson told me he loved me. Then he kissed me. Daddy I didn't ask him to kiss me, he just did. I didn't really like it, he smelled like corn chips an' bologna. I told him that I didn't believe him 'cause he told Cassie the same thing last week. Then he said that all I had to do was look at him to tell that he loved me, an' then I said I didn't know about that, but that I'd ask you. So Daddy what does love look like? I sure didn't see anything diff'ent 'bout Neil today. I sure need to know Daddy so I can tell if Neil is in love."

I brushed my hands over Sarah's ringlets again and pondered a suitable answer. "Honey I think Neil might be unsure of what love is also. That is a very adult emotion and a lot of boys don't understand it."

Sarah smiled triumphantly, "I didn't think he knew what he was talking about! Thanks Daddy." She smacked my cheek with a kiss and bounced off my lap. As she skipped away I couldn't help but feel that I had short changed my daughter.

Suddenly a thousand images flooded my mind. The night I met Anne, my wife, came into focus immediately replaced by our wedding and then Sarah's birth two years later. I felt the tears of mirth turn into tears of shame. Shame that I couldn't tell my daughter about these moments and at least try and make her understand that love was all the joy and pain in life wrapped up into a precious pearl of a moment. I wanted to tell her that love was that sense of comfort that accompanied me through every moment. I wanted to tell her so many things but I couldn't find the words.


That night as I went upstairs to tuck in Sarah I still had not solved my problem. Should I say something? Should I try and explain myself? How do you explain love to a five year old? I walked in and caught Sarah in mid-jump on her bed. I tucked her in beneath her comforter and picked up where we had left off in her fairy tale collection. As she drifted off to sleep I marked the page and quietly closed the book. I brushed a kiss across her forehead and went to turn off the light. As I turned to leave Sarah murmured, "Daddy, I think I know what love looks like. It's the way you and Mommy look when you're at home." Sarah drifted into sleep after finishing her thought and I found myself awed by the wisdom of my little girl.


Author's note: I am not a father, nor am I a mother. Rather, I am a daughter trying to understand my father and how he communicated with me when I was a little girl.