Short personal story - This Boy

[Forget-Me-Not]

Poetry, rather than story writing, is my most typical way of expressing feelings and emotions, but, on rare occasion I'm moved to write of an event from my life that has special meaning in story form. With having occasion Sunday to reminisce about a very meaningful time I had this past summer I felt inclined to write a little something about it. Please excuse my poor sentence structure, faulty punctuation, wordiness, and lack of better focus skills in my attempt to tell the story...

This Boy

Though I was unaware of it when young, I later discovered I was born with an innate love of children. No, not the kind that ever made me want to open a daycare center, or teach school, or mother the neighborhood hoard. No, I was much too shy, introverted, and far too accustomed to quiet solitude for that. What I mean is the kind of innate love that fills one up with compassion when a child is sick, or hurt, or causes fear when they're in danger, and most especially to ache deeply within when they must suffer the pain of neglect or abuse. No child should suffer such. Children are an heritage of the Lord, a gift from God, precious in his sight and of infinite worth.

Having said that, though, even if a child were preciously and "infinitely" cute (realizing most parents are convinced theirs are) that cuteness would not be enough to entice me to want to babysit. No, I had very little experience with babies or children and I often questioned if I would ever have sufficient patience for my own, of which I had none. Children that is. Yes, I had wanted to grow up to be a mommy, but apparently that was not meant to be. If my girlhood dreams and longings for love, home, and family were yet to come true, I'd still want that, even now, just as much if not more. At least, I'd want to be the loving step-mother and grandmother to the offspring of a loving husband. No one else's brood, though, thank you just the same.

I hasten to add, however, lest by that last confession it may seem I have insufficient fondness for children, in spite of my professed love for them, I should say I think that not to be the case. Aside from a simple lack of experience, my reservations, where children are concerned, came, I suspect, by way of always having an inner sense that I would not be granted the blessing of motherhood, and it may have been a type of self preservation, to keep my emotions more distant from children, so that ungranted desire might be less painful. I have, however, had a few children come absolutely and irresistibly into my heart and I should like to tell a little about one.

During the summer of 2011, I had the opportunity of traveling to a relation's home and spending several days with a young visiting male family member, the age of 11. He'd come from a far distance and it was our first meeting. He was also, without doubt, the most adorably cute and perfect child, ever, for whom I fell hopelessly head over heels. I'd not had such fun, nor taken such sheer pleasure in my days from morning till night for many years. He was pure joy! He was my companion, my friend, my playmate, my buddy and my partner in crime. Well, as much crime as a perfect 11 year old boy might muster. A rare treasure that kindled in my heart all the tender maternal longings and affections that lay dormant for so long.

Curiously, to me, at some point he seemed to try the patience of nearly every other adult family member in his presence and some frequently. But for me, I thought him absolute perfection! Yes, perfection, even down to his boyish penchant for making "fart" noises with his mouth against his hands, as well as the time he was sternly scolded by his great-grandmother for belching at the dinner table. But, really, what things could be more perfectly natural to an 11 year old boy? Yes, he was perfect. So sweet, so helpful, so pleased to share, so eager, so bright, so energetic and full of life. The light in his eyes was captivating and his smile would warm me in an instant.

I'll always remember the night I quietly slipped down stairs to go out onto the back patio after all were in bed. I had taught this boy how to play cribbage the night before and, for any who don't know the game, it's not always the easiest to teach, or learn, but he had caught on as only a brilliant boy could, so we had planned to stay up late again this night and play. But earlier that evening he had apparently committed some infraction, the type of which I never learned (nor did he seem to know) and he had been sent to bed early, before sunset, and I had been informed that he and I would not be allowed to stay up that night and play cards.

I was very disappointed, but since I was not the ruling female present in the household, I, too, was expected to obey, which meant no late night of card playing. No fun giggling together, nor laughing harder as we tried to shush each other in an effort to not waken everyone when we got too loud. No creeping back into the kitchen for snacks. No battling mosquitos together. No running back and forth waving our arms to activate the motion detection light to continue to illuminate our game, and no awe at watching a grotesquely huge yet fascinating moth, as had come to call the night before. No, this lonely night I made my way down stairs in the dark to go out to the patio alone for some melancholy solitude.

As I reached the foot of the stairwell and began to pass by this boy's bed, made up on the living room couch, I saw through the dim light that he was awake, with a look of sorrow in his eyes. With light from his great-grandmother's bedside reading lamp shining through her open doorway, only a few feet away, I dared not speak, but, instead, smiled at him sweetly in sympathy as I continued on my way, feeling quite sorry for him at his banishment to his couch-bed. As I walked out onto the back patio, intending to sit in the relief of the cooling night breeze and watch the moonlit sky alone, I happened to glance back at the door and there this boy was, with his hands and face pressed tightly against the window pane looking out sadly after me. Oh! What woman with a love of children could not have her heart melt at such a scene?!

I walked back and quietly opened the door, whispering to ask what he was doing up, saying that if his great-grandmother got up and found he was not in his bed, he would be in trouble. He looked downward, gently shrugged, then looked up into my eyes and assured me it would be okay. What could I do? Order him back to bed? I just couldn't! Instead, I let him come out with me and lay down at one end of the patio futon, as I sat at the other, to gaze out at the night sky. So there we two were, quietly soaking up not only the beautiful night, but the feelings of comfort in the companionship of one another. Oh this boy, who so completely wove his way into my heart, what a rare and special child he was, precious and of infinite worth in the eyes of God, and in my own.

Edited February 16, 2012 by Forget-Me-Not

[pam]

Wonderful story.

[Forget-Me-Not]

Wonderful story.

Awe, thanks Pam. I just re-read it and already see multiple needed editings, but, oh well. It was such a wonderful time though. It will always be a highlight of my life. :)