I was sitting on a bench. When I noticed a young mother with two children who were small. The youngest one was whining, “Pick me up,” I heard him beg, but the mother’s face grew angry as the child clung to her leg. “Don’t hang on to me,” she shouted, as she pushed his hands away.
I wish I’d had the courage to go up to her and say: The time will come too quickly when those little arms that tug, Won’t ask for you to hold them or won’t freely give a hug.
The day will sneak up subtly just as it did with me, When you can’t recall the last time that your child sat on your knee.
Like those sacred, pre-dawn feedings when we cherished time alone. Our babies grow and leave behind those special times we’ve known.
So when your child comes to you with a book that you can share, Or asks that you would tuck him in and help him say his prayer…
When he comes to sit and chat or would like to take a walk, Before you answer that you can’t because there’s no time to talk…
Remember what all parents learn so many times too late, That years go by too quickly and that childhood doesn’t wait.
Take every opportunity if one should slip away Reach hard to get it back again, don’t wait another day.
I watched that mother walk away, her children followed near, I hope she’ll pick them up before her chances disappear…