I ruined something precious, and I can’t fix it.

One day, my middle-grade son was doing his homework from his rebbe. He sat down at the dining room table and opened his mishnayos. In a clear and beautiful voice, full of intensity and fervor, my son began to sway back and forth and chant the mishnayos the way they do in his classroom. My heart swelled at the sweetness and purity of how he was learning. I wanted to capture it forever.

Whipping out my phone, I hid behind a pillar in the dining room and tried to video him while he learned. After a second or two, my son looked up and caught me in the act. He flushed and lowered his voice, mumbling the rest of the Mishnah. I quickly apologized and said I didn’t end up recording, but it was too late. Since then, he has never gotten into his homework in the same way. I never witnessed the same purity and innocence I had ruined with my bad choice.