To most of the world, my son seems sullen and distant, but he deeply loves mankind and mourns for their troubles. His sullen appearance is just the outward refection of his deep concerns for the sorrows of man and his passionate desire to assist the downtrodden.
To most of the world, my daughter is sweet and domestic, but she is the ferocious defender the weak. If there is a crusade to join, an injustice to correct, my daughter’s dimples and giggles are quickly replaced by a threatening growl and a merciless strike.
The world seldom sees my children’s true nature, for in their youth they still hide their identity, feeling it offers them protection. But every so often they let down their guard and the world sees their nature. Often it is through their writings.
Teaching my children to write has been my goal, not simply for the normal communication reasons, but because writing is an outlet for them to freely express their nature. My son has learned to share ideas, life lessons, and words of compassion through writing. My daughter has learned to replace her fists with words. They are young and their skills are still in need of refining, but when their causes are just, their skills show a refinement beyond their age.
My job has not been to give them an identity, but allow them to find and embrace their own. This week they have both proven they have learned from me, but are not restricted by me. This makes me at peace.