“Do you know what’s the first thing I’ll do when I grow up?” asked the ten-year-old girl, eager to share her dreams.

“I don’t know, tell me,” her father indulged her.
“I’ll travel all around the world. I’ll be able to travel alone when I’m 18, right?”
“Yes,” her father replied, masking his concerns. He didn’t want to dampen her enthusiasm.
“Oh, Daddy, I have so many plans, so many things I want to do.”
“I want to tell you something, though,” he couldn’t help himself, but he said it in a positive way: “If you start working towards your childhood dreams now, you’ll succeed even when you’re older. If you learn to be persistent from now on…”
“What does ‘persistent’ mean?”
“It means never giving up.”
“I won’t give up on my dreams. And time is short even though the years are so long, I know that. I can’t wait to have my own house. My life will begin at 18.”
“Your life has already begun,” her father pointed out, though he understood what she meant, perhaps precisely because he understood, he hastened to correct her.
“I know, Dad, but then I’ll have a different family, a different life,” she said innocently. “It will be amazing.”
Hearing her speak this way, her father already felt old. He didn’t reply immediately, but assured her that indeed, it would be wonderful.
Then they fell silent for a while. Children will always be children to us, regardless of their age, he thought. We will always love them and live for their happiness. But life goes on, and they will have their own children, and then we, gradually, will fade from their lives. Just like our parents did. After they’re born, children need us less and less. And it’s we that encourage them to be independent, to do things on their own. To leave us alone. And not to bother us so much. And not do this, and not do that, no, no, no…
And one day, not too far from today, we will miss all these things. Life is like a river, and we are caught in its currents, but children grow up so fast. Time is deceptive. Days seem long while years fly by unnoticed. And she, how is it possible that she’s already ten? He remembered so well how he used to carry her in his arms to sleep when she was one, and now, already, her childhood is nearing its end. But she doesn’t even know that. Maybe more than half of the time she’ll spend with us has already passed.
“Dad, do you think we could build a house for me here nearby?”
“Oh, my dear, you’re still such a little girl!”
Her father had feared that his little girl had grown already, but her words warmed his heart. She was still his little girl, who couldn’t live far away from home. Yet, this didn’t stop her from boldly dreaming of her own path.
“You didn’t answer me,” she returned to her childish question after a few moments.
She wasn’t joking, she wanted to be taken seriously. Building a house costs a lot of money, her father thought, but he didn’t want to respond in that manner. That would bring her down from her pure world into the muddy patterns of adult thinking where so many dreams have ended…
He still replied that it’s not so simple to build a house.
“I don’t want a very big house, maybe just four times bigger than our backyard shed. Just two small floors, and four rooms. I want to decorate it myself. I’d like to see how it would look…”
“But wouldn’t you rather think about the treehouse we’ve wanted to build for so long? It will be big enough, maybe even have two rooms.”
“Will we all fit in there?”
She’s still a child, her father realized, there’s no need to worry yet.
“You still love us, don’t you?” he intentionally phrased the question this way.
“Still?” came her prompt response. “What do you mean?”
“I mean, you love us like a child, not like a teenager.”
She sensed these subtleties, but prefered to talk about what she cared about in that moment:
“So, do you think we could build it? Maybe in the backyard or somewhere nearby.”
Nearby… what warm colors this word carries.
“My dear, you have your room here in our house. When you want to stay there by yourself, you can arrange it however you like.”
“Oh, Dad, I don’t think that will ever happen. I’m afraid to be alone.”
Her father was torn between conflicting emotions, as if he were swimming in cold water pierced by hot currents.
They fell silent again for a few moments; she probably thought it was time to sleep.
“I love you, Dad. Goodnight!”
Ah, how he would miss this evening, he thought. And yet, what will happen to that little house she’s already dreaming of? Will she forget about it? How many childhood dreams remain forgotten, crammed into a dusty corner of her memories?
“I love you too!” he replied after a few moments – moments he wished were eternal.