Languages are fluffy big pillows stuffed between nations - what others say is muffled and nearly lost in them, and when we speak their grammar we get feathers in our mouth. It's worth it. What pleasure to phrase an idea, even in child's words, slowly, and sail it across the gulf in another language to a different-speaking human being!
Children are not our property, and they are not ours to control any more that we were our parents' property or theirs to control.
We're all the sons of God, or children of the Is, or ideas of the Mind, or however else you want to say it.
How is it we’re the lucky ones, living a life that the children-we-were took for dreams?
You are not the child of the people you call mother and father, but their fellow-adventurer on a bright journey to understand the things that are.