What was the world before her and him? What was the mother before the little heads lying on her shoulder, and those warm, rhythmic sighs that precede sleep? Before the smell of the sun, and the sunrise beach, and the pink, sticky sweetness? Before the fluffy tummies, and the tousled hair?
How could there be a life when there were not their wondering eyes, and the unmistakable voices, and the most beautiful occurrences, the incomparable ones?
Could it be that everything began with that giving birth, that the real Big Bang was the cry that announced the new life, one where chaos orders the priorities, and there is learning, shocks, pride; as well as all the love for the construction of a nest in which they can grow up healthy, strong, respected, so that their tomorrow will be useful and good?
Each girl and boy that is born, besides for the family, is a new beginning for the Earth, for the species, for their country. In him and in her, knowledge and stories will be perpetuated, and the seeds of the new will be gestated.
That is why they are moving: it seems that they do not know everything, but they remind us of the essences; that is why they bring joy to any place where they are: because they live from surprise, unprejudiced, daring.
To those who have grown up irremediably, childhood reminds them that the future is a home always to be built, and that our fleeting passage through the universe deserves that we hand over to those who come after us a fairer, cleaner world.
Wretched are those who do not want to hear the shuddering song of childhood, because they will not understand the dreadful crime of making a child cry from hunger, or of burying a child under the rubble, or making the noise of bombs prevent the little ones from dreaming of green olive trees, and colorful butterflies, and flowering fields. Whoever hurts their bodies or their innocence, whoever occupies them in surviving the shrapnel, attacks the whole of humanity, be it one, be it thousands.
May every mother be able to caress the hair of her progeny with tenderness, and marvel at what has been born to her, and to all; and that remainder take care, help. May International Children's Day be celebrated with balloons, and clowns, and shiny papers in every corner of the planet. May, every second, life be recast with the joyful wonder of a girl and a boy.
