“An innocent child is a beautiful thing
Secure in a Father’s arms
Sleeps while Mother sings
There’s no way to know
All the harm this world can bring
I miss my innocence
Oh to be innocent”-Amy Grant “Innocence Lost”
I remember when I was a child and my mother would sing to me and rock me to sleep. I remember the melodies more than the words. I would try hard to stay awake because I loved her voice and the way it made me feel; safe, secure, and loved.
Much of the wonder of childhood is wrapped up in simple pleasures. The brilliance of a magnifying glass and a leaf on a sunny day. Freshly fallen snow. The gentle squeaking of a clown twisting balloons into a cute bunny rabbit.
I remember the first big disappointment I faced as a child. I was to spend the night with friends of our family and go to the zoo the next morning. I could not wait to see the animals. It was all I thought about for weeks. And then it started to rain. We drove to the friends house and prayed it would stop raining by the time morning arrived. It did not. So instead of going to the zoo I went home with a broken heart.
Innocence amplifies our responses to pleasure and pain. We develop our coping mechanisms by experience. We would not know fierce winds and billowing clouds were precursors to a violent storm unless we had previously been pelted by rain. Just as I never knew the danger of a flood until the storm sewers backed up and the street in front of my house turned into a river. I thought it was just water–like a swimming pool–until my parents pointed out the swirling whirlpool near the sewer grate and its ability to suck me to my death.
Much has been written about mental torment as a result of the pandemic. Suicide hotlines have seen an influx of callers as have child abuse hotlines and various social agencies. While some of us thought the economic impacts were the worst casualty, others grieved a loved one with no funeral. This goes without saying. But some of us are in worse shape than anyone can possibly imagine as we try to hold onto our jobs and our social circles while navigating the treacherous news cycles and social media platforms that have defined our lives in recent years. We seek out the nostalgia of pre-pandemic days as we try to evoke a sense of wellbeing, but reality comes hurtling toward us like a runaway train with all its fury and clamor. We stand staring while the conductor blares the horn but like a bad dream–we are unable to move.
So we ask ourselves, will life ever be the same? Is this our forever “new normal”?
I feel like Linus without his security blanket.
I’ll never forget my sister and brother stealing my place on my mother’s lap. This is the tragedy of being the oldest child. One day I was Mommy’s baby and the next I was the oldest and responsible for setting an example. I was no longer allowed to suck my fingers, or keep my security blanket, (yes, I had one) or climb into Mommy’s bed. I now realize growing up is a slow shedding of innocence and quite candidly, the older I get, the more awful it seems.
Yesterday I happened across an interview with Roger Joseph Manning, Jr., the founding member of a band I loved in high school: the Jellyfish. He described the song writer’s ability to make a melody that transports the listener into another reality. Even as a young song writer, he recognized this resplendent capability and leveraged a friendship to achieve the perfect album. They poured their hearts and souls into the project only to succeed musically but lose the friendship. Much to their grief, they didn’t even profit off the endeavor. Sure, they have a handful of fans but some “Benjamin’s” would have been nice too.
How many musicians and artists have leveraged blood, sweat and tears to never achieve the level of success they desired? If I were to hazard a guess, I would say too many. But I am still thankful for their sacrifice. In listening to those songs that brought me joy as a 15-year-old child, I somehow recaptured the wonder of my youth. For a few hours I listened–blissfully unaware of the pandemic or the host of other sorrows that have plagued me in recent days. I let the chords roll over me and felt the notes dissolve my pain. This kind of soul-healing salve is precious and utterly priceless. For that, Roger, I thank you.
Unfortunately, it seems that no area of life is untainted by pain but I suppose this is why lullabies exist. In our tired and fretful existence we forget the luxury of sleep and its impact on the weary soul. We need musicians to remind us to breathe and relax and rest. And so I end this blog with the lyrics from the first song on the album, Split Milk. I’ll sing it again and remember what it felt like to wonder and dream and hope for brighter days.
JellyfishGo to sleep and hush little darling.
It’s time for bed, time to put out the light.
Sweet dreams are awaiting behind your closed eyes
And a blanket of night.
Where the bed bugs don’t bite.
Go to sleep and hush until morning.
You’ve said all your prayers.
Time to make them come true.Don’t worry your daddy is here
If you need him tonight.
Ease your mind.
Rest your eyes and sleep tight.
Goodnight.
Leave a Reply