Childhood is a short season.

Helen Hayes, the “First Lady of the American Theater,” spoke with profound simplicity when she declared: “Childhood is a short season.” This phrase, though only four words, contains within it the ache of passing time, the tenderness of memory, and the urgency of love. For just as spring blossoms swiftly fade into summer’s fire, so too does the tender age of children vanish before our eyes. What feels endless in the moment proves fleeting when we look back, and the season of innocence is gone before we can grasp it.

The origin of this wisdom lies in Hayes’s own life, for she was not only a celebrated actress but also a mother who endured deep loss. Her daughter, Mary, died at a young age, and Hayes understood in her bones that the days of laughter and small joys cannot be guaranteed nor prolonged. Out of such sorrow and reflection came her recognition that childhood is a gift—fragile, brief, and precious. Her words are not only an observation, but a warning to cherish what will not last.

History itself bears witness to this truth. Consider the diaries of Anne Frank, written by a girl whose childhood season was cut short by war and cruelty. In her pages we glimpse the heart of a young girl filled with curiosity, dreams, and humor, even in the darkest of times. Yet her childhood was stolen, and her life extinguished too soon. Her story reminds us with piercing clarity: the season of youth is not promised to linger, and every moment is to be treasured.

The metaphor of a season carries great wisdom. Just as the farmer prepares for harvest knowing that spring’s blossoms are fleeting, so too must parents and elders recognize that their time with the young is brief. A child’s laughter, the clumsy steps, the endless questions—these are blossoms that quickly turn to memory. And once they are gone, they cannot be summoned back. One who neglects them in pursuit of wealth or distraction may later find their hands full of gold but their heart empty of warmth.

Yet this brevity is not cause for despair, but for urgency. It is the swiftness of childhood that makes it holy. The shortness of the season demands that we be present, awake, and grateful. To miss a child’s laughter today is to forfeit it forever. To put off tenderness for tomorrow is to risk that tomorrow will never come. It is in the awareness of impermanence that we discover the strength of love.

The lesson, then, is clear: be present in the season of childhood. Do not let the hours slip unnoticed, nor treat them as burdens to endure. Rather, honor them as sacred, fleeting gifts. Read to your children, walk with them, listen to their endless questions, hold them close even when they wriggle away. Create memories not with riches, but with presence. For when the season is gone, what will remain are the imprints of love you gave freely and consistently.

So, O listener, mark this truth: childhood is a short season. Like spring, it dazzles, it blossoms, it delights, and then it is gone. But if you tend it with care, the harvest it yields will endure forever—in the strength of character, the warmth of memory, and the bonds of love that will guide your children long after they leave your side. Take heed of Helen Hayes’s wisdom, and let it stir you to action: cherish now, love now, live now—for the season is short, and it will not return.