To meet a new soul so unaware as to be a pond without a ripple or stir.

And, yet, there he was.

Hoping the future would lie with them, a natural thing, one would say.
Here a girl, there a boy, but the ones holding them wanting only the best.
The future of an unopened book, an unwritten paragraph, without an ending, only a beginning, the best of the best.

The blank, we impress our own lives upon, our fears, our failures, hoping they will be taller, smarter, more musical, physical, better.

But, there they lie in innocense and weakness, less than a newborn fawn or chick.  Unable to function or protect themselves for decades.

Here we are, parents and grands, hoping and wishing to fill the gaps, to propel them further than we ever achieved.

So wishing they are more than we.

The future unbidden, unwritten, borne on the hopes and dreams of the failed dreams of the ones before them.

And, we love them, every new boy or girl.