I dole out the world to my children in palatable spoonfuls, pacing out truths about dangers and horrors a little at a time, gauging their readiness, giving them space. They’ll need to drink the whole bitter brew at some point in their lives, I tell myself,  they’ll need to face everything ugly and cruel that humans do and have done, but not yet, not all of it yet; they can’t stomach all of it yet. Is it the very definition of privilege to be able to protect them when they’re young? Or is it my deepest parental instinct to do whatever I can to show them the beauty of the world first?

From 100 Words: The Beauty of Brevity. Word prompt: “spoonful.”