Only beautiful things

Time to get up so as not to start life late, I who, like any father, dress you and in the meantime you are still asleep.
Slowly remove what was needed for the night and put on the clothes for the celebration of a new day in complete silence. Seeing something sweet come out of the fridge for breakfast is an instant activation, the signal that we are really ready, an explosion of happiness that invades every corner of the house. You start the day laughing at everything that happens, then I leave you safe among a thousand smiles in a very colorful school, I run down the stairs thinking about all the things there are to do, but a thought crosses my mind and stops All. The luck of the privilege of a safe and peaceful life, of the simple certainty of finding yourself in the same place a few hours later, without the fear that in the meantime a bomb might fall on your head or mine and in an instant sweep everything away. I think about how lucky we are who are here and who have everything here, without having to dream of another existence elsewhere, about how beautiful and easy life can be, unless we fall into unfortunate and unfortunately always widespread inappropriate coincidences.

A sound from my pocket announces a new promotion, reminding me how much happier everything could be with the simple purchase of another beautiful useless thing, because it's Black Friday every day here now. He doesn't tell me to move from where I am within a few minutes because very soon everything will be destroyed, just a few days after having already had to leave every part of me behind forever, among other rubble. Or to run for cover underground as quickly as possible at the sound of a siren because nothing is safe above. There is no longer a place that can not be considered dangerous because there are bandits who hide even under hospitals and inside schools and fire, which is supposed to be friendly, can reach anyone anywhere. What is the difference between the name I write on my son's jacket so I don't lose it and the one you write on your son's arm so you can recognize him if an irreparable and unspeakable catastrophe ever happens?

I watch you run, play, fall, eat, cry, sleep and I think of other places where something else is normal.
Where you also have to be careful about what a child draws on a piece of paper, because the principle of innocence no longer applies to anyone and we are all potentially individuals to be re-educated.
Where war is more normal than peace, boys and girls go to one school to learn to read and write, boys and girls go to another to learn to shoot, the sad fate of knowing how to kill to reduce the chances of being eliminated in a game where my survival is your death and vice versa. Where you live with fear: you are at a concert, on a subway car, in a supermarket and you have to watch your back every moment because the enemy is everywhere and at any moment something terrible could happen.
And then there's you here.

That you repeat a single word until you're exhausted, dad, and you shout it, without really knowing why, partly for fun and partly by chance.
And I feel the duty to protect you, the need to be able to contribute in some stupid way so that the world can be a little more beautiful, a little safer, a little friendlier. At least for you. I see the image of a group of young people suspended on the ledge of the university, desperately trying to save themselves from the hatred of a boy like them who had chosen to cause as much pain as possible as the purpose and meaning of his life. Even if he was born and raised in our part of the world, the good, fair, safe, peaceful one. Is peace still a possible dream?

We wonder for a moment if it makes sense to still believe in a beautiful and happy life for us and for others.
We feel the need for a hope to cling to like those kids hanging in the void, but then we do the easy thing and remove the annoyance of this thought, insensitive to each other's fate.
I see you running and falling, falling and running, running and falling, just asking not to be left alone so you can continue your fun. I hold you tightly after yet another tumble, the moment in which in a hug you ask me for the strength and courage to not stop falling and running. And I think it must still make sense for you to believe that things could be another way. For us who are here and for you who have ended up in parts of the world where we live in fear, hatred and pain. I hold you tight. So that good things can happen.
So that good things can happen to you. So that you can make good things happen.

Marco Grossetti
NPFOCUS
NP January 2024