The Weight of Knowledge

“Sex,” I was pretty sure, meant whether you were a boy or a girl, and “sin” made Tante Jans very angry, but what the two together meant I could not imagine. Seated next to Father in the train compartment, the rhythmic clattering of the wheels against the track filled the silence. The warm summer sun filtered in through the window, casting a golden hue over our small space. I was bubbling with curiosity, a trait I inherited from Father. Today, that curiosity found its way to an innocuous yet powerful question.

“Father, what is sexsin?”

He turned to look at me as he always did when answering a question. His brow furrowed, and I could see a brief flicker of surprise in his eyes. But to my astonishment, he didn’t respond right away. Instead, he stood up, lifted his traveling case from the rack over our heads, and set it down on the train floor with a soft thud.

“Will you carry it off the train, Corrie?” he asked, looking down at me with a gentle smile.

I stood up, my heart pounding with a mix of excitement and dread. I tugged at the case, only to find it crammed with watches and spare parts that he had purchased that morning. It was heavy—too heavy for my little hands.

“It’s too heavy,” I admitted, my small fingers slipping from the handle as I leaned back in defeat.

“Yes,” he said, nodding knowingly. “And it would be a pretty poor father who would ask his little girl to carry such a load.”

I processed his words, my young mind wrestling with the deeper meaning behind them. Father’s eyes took on a distant look, as if he was conjuring a memory from somewhere far beyond our little compartment.

“It’s the same way, Corrie, with knowledge. Some knowledge is too heavy for children. When you are older and stronger, you can bear it. For now, you must trust me to carry it for you.”

I stared at him, a mix of confusion and admiration swirling within me. This was not just about carrying bags or knowing intricate truths about the world—it was a lesson wrapped in a moment, a father’s love forging a protective barrier around my innocence.

In that instant, I understood something profound. The world I inhabited was filled with complexities—some beautiful, others bewildering and dark. We are asking our children to carry loads that are way too heavy for them. Knowledge is a weight, and not every piece of information should be placed into the eager hands of those who have yet to comprehend its depths.

The train jostled forward, mimicking the bumpy ride of a child’s emotions. I thought of other children I knew, burdened with truths about life and death, about sin, and guilt. Some kids had been forced to grow up too quickly, made to shoulder adult concerns that had no place in their innocent hearts.

“Father,” I said slowly, pondering his metaphor, “do you carry all of it for me?”

His gaze softened, and for a moment, I could see the weight of years resting on his shoulders. The sacrifices he made as a parent, the sleepless nights filled with worry and care—he bore so much for our family. It struck me that being a father was not just about providing, but also about shielding his children from the harsh realities of life until they were ready to face them.

“Yes, Corrie,” he replied, his voice steady yet filled with gentle wisdom. “It’s my job to protect you, to help you understand what is necessary now, and what can wait until later. You will learn, and you will grow. But today, you can be just a child.”

With the train speeding ahead, I contemplated the beauty of that thought. Innocence is worth protecting and worth fighting for. Each laugh, every carefree moment, was a precious gift, one I wasn’t ready to relinquish yet.

As the train thundered through the countryside, I felt a sense of calm envelop me. Instead of puzzling over the confusing questions of the world, I could focus on the joys of being a little girl—climbing trees, chasing butterflies, and sharing stories with my father. His unwavering love provided a sense of safety I never wanted to leave behind.

“Thank you, Father,” I finally said, my heart swelling with gratitude. The simplicity of the moment, the love wrapped in his wisdom, was heavier than any physical burden, yet felt infinitely lighter on my soul.

In a world where children are often asked to bear adult truths too soon, Father was my protector. He carried the weight of knowledge, allowing me to flourish in the light of innocence a little while longer. And for that, I would always be thankful.