Outside the sun is shining, it’s a warm cozy afternoon. The wind is blowing the most perfect sounds of nature. The street is filled with people united by their location divided by their attention. I’m sitting in my front porch, with my legs stretched long in front of me, leaning back, resting on my palms. I’m looking at my niece play with our dog coco.

Coco seems tired and worn out and it only takes for my niece to pull his hair for him to get mad enough to try and bite her hand. And there at 6 o’clock in the afternoon, on a street filled with kids playing and mothers immersed in conversation… My niece starts wailing. She runs into my arms and won’t stop crying. Even though the dog but snapped at her, in that moment, the shock, startled this little girl enough for her to cry as if her life depended on it.

Everyone rushes to her and within minutes of my dad’s silly jokes and faces she starts laughing again. And just like that it’s over. She’s moved on to the next moment.

If every deep and disturbing moment in our lives could be met with that much resilience maybe our wounds wouldn’t be as deep.

Believe it or not children have one up on us. They suffer in the moment, dwell and let the pain and hurt fill them, and when there are no more tears, no more wining wails, they wipe their faces and just like that they move on to their next venture. While we, we’d rather pretend nothing happened. Say in the most normal way “Don’t cry. You’ll ruin your make up.” We repress emotions and tears so no one
finds the need to tell us to stop crying.

But is that really the best choice? Do we really allow our hearts and our souls to heal if we jump from being in pain to just fine? Or are we simply fooling ourselves by allowing the memory grow tender, so when the subject is touched it hurts deeper then it should.

I supposed at some age it becomes silly to throw tantrums for any given reason. Regardless we do lose sight of how to heal internally correctly. We stop using band-aids and mom’s kisses. And much rather turn to stitches or declare battle scars. Somehow thinking it makes us tougher, it makes us better.

But a man, or woman for that matter, isn’t measured by how many tears he stopped from rolling but how he took hold of the situation. Faced things head on and showed in spirit that among all beliefs - remaining strong even when everything is going wrong is what prevails. It is only when we face things head on that our hearts grow a little bit stronger, our skin a little bit thicker. That we come to the realization that we can be wounded but never demolished. That in the end when all is said and done we too can stand up, wipe ourselves off, reset and restart again.

I look out and smile at my niece who by now is playing once more with the dog. The recent incident completely forgotten. The anguish diminished. The tears now dried. And laughter, arising from a pure and innocent heart, fills that long lazy Texas afternoon.