Gon' call tha' Po-po

Today at my sister's graduation from Navarro Junior College, I was sitting in an aisle seat in the overcrowded gym waiting for the ceremony to begin.

Well, I was doing much more than sitting.


 I was...

...straining to see Daniele around the overweight woman with arched, stenciled eyebrows, who was nearly falling off the cold concrete steps in her dangerously tall stiletto heels much the same way her cleavage and thighs were falling out of the restrictive leather tube dress she was wearing.

...smelling way too much of the deodorant-deprived foreign man behind me, sweating profusely in his neon colored vinyl pantsuit and rapidly speaking into his cell phone and waving his arms.
That didn't help with the smelling part.

...trying not to be appalled at the two black men sitting beside me with a precious little boy who couldn't have been older than 18 months as he squirmed and writhed in the confines of one man's arms while the other man poked and slapped his head, both muttering threats such as 'boy you bes' siddown an' behave or yo' uncle gonna slap yo' face' and 'son shutup! Shutup fo' I beat you up!'

I'm sure threats like that are super effective against 18 month old little boys that hate being made to sit still in overcrowded gyms that smell like humanity. How completely appropriate.


Parenting criticism aside, I was pretty smitten by the little boy's chocolate colored doe-like eyes, and as he turned from the sharp words and slaps on the head, he snuck a wide-eyed glance at me. I puffed out my cheeks and crossed my eyes at him (which I would think would incite fear, but apparently this kid has moral fiber unspoken. Probably slapped into his head by his large, tatooed uncle).
His giggles spread through the gym, bouncing off the stoic metal ceiling and tumbling down the rows of brightly colored plastic chairs filled with impatient, tired people. The infectious smile that spanned his open, eager face began to tug across my lips as well, and soon we were laughing together, this random antsy toddler and I, uninhibited and unaffected by our surroundings, for a moment.

The man holding him (I'm assuming his dad) shifted him impatiently in his arms as he pulled his expensive cell phone out of his pocket and glanced at the neon screen, muttering under his breath, oblivious to the comedy his son and I were sharing in.
Ain't nobody got time' fo' joy these days.

As my mom leaned over to ask me a question, I turned, breaking the moment the boy and I were sharing. I felt a pudgy little hand on my knee; gentle patting turning into curious fingering of my dress hem. Continuing my conversation with my mom, I soon heard the sharp voice once again, although this time I wasn't sure whether I thought it was supremely hilarious or devastatingly serious.

Dad: "Son! Do you want to go to jail?? Boy you gon' get yo'self thrown in jail boy"
Uncle: "What? What he do?"
Dad: "He all up on this lady's leg!"

I turned, confused, and met the little boy's eyes, just as confused, his hand now uncertain on my knee. I began to speak "Oh no, it's ok, really, he's fine..." but his dad had shifted him in his arms, once again, this time beyond my reach but within arms length of his uncle, who rewarded him with a few more cuffs to the head and an accompanying "Boy whatchu pouting fo, yo' feelin's hurt? Huh? You hurt boy? Huh?"


I have no end to this, and no conclusion, I'm just in a thinking mood.

I wonder, if that little boy is hugged often. Or if he is pushed on the swings until his dad's arms are tired and he soars to dizzying heights as he laughs and feels as if he's flying. Is he kissed goodnight? Does he know someone loves him? Will he grow up with this perception that strangers are out to get him, and curious adventuring into unknown places will only get you beat around, and will he be told that everyone is out to bring him down and if he's not a fighter he'll find himself in last place? Those precious brown eyes of his, so window like-open and curious, will those become hard doors thrown up to prevent the walls from coming down around him?

The human spirit is resilient, but it only takes so much. And the wounds we acquire that only Jesus can heal are carried with us. The affect us. They change us. And some of those wounds.

Well, sometimes they start pretty young.