We were the only family with children in the restaurant. I sat Erik
in a high chair and noticed everyone was quietly eating and talking.
Suddenly, Erik squealed with glee and said, “Hi there.” He pounded his
fat baby hands on the high chair tray. His eyes were crinkled in
laughter and his mouth was bared in a toothless grin, as he wriggled
and giggled with merriment.
I looked around and saw the source of his merriment. It was a man
whose pants were baggy with a zipper at half-mast and his toes poked
out of would-be shoes. His shirt was dirty and his hair was uncombed
and unwashed. His whiskers were too short to be called a beard and his
nose was so varicose it looked like a road map. We were too far from
him to smell, but I was sure he smelled.
His hands waved and flapped on loose wrists. Hi there, baby; Hi
there, big boy. I see ya, buster,” the man said to Erik. My husband and
I exchanged looks, “What do we do?” Erik continued to laugh and answer,
“Hi, hi there.” Everyone in the restaurant noticed and looked at us and
then at the man. The old geezer was creating a nuisance with my
beautiful baby.
Our meal came and the man began shouting from across the room, “Do
ya patty cake? Do you know peek-a-boo? Hey, look, he knows peek-a-boo.”
Nobody thought the old man was cute. He was obviously drunk. My husband
and I were embarrassed. We ate in silence; all except for Erik, who was
running through his repertoire for the admiring skid row bum, who in
turn, reciprocated with his cute comments.
We finally got through the
meal and headed for the door. My husband went to pay the check and told
me to meet him in the parking lot. The old man sat poised between me
and the door.
“Lord, just let me out of here before he speaks to me or Erik,” I
prayed. As I drew closer to the man, I turned my back trying to
sidestep him and avoid any air he might be breathing. As I did, Erik
leaned over my arm, reaching with both arms in a baby’s “pick-me-up”
position. Before I could stop him, Erik had propelled himself from my
arms to the man’s. Suddenly a very old smelly man and a very young baby
consummated their relationship. Erik in an act of total trust, love,
and submission laid his tiny head upon the man’s ragged shoulder.
The man’s eyes closed, and I saw tears hover beneath his lashes.
His aged hands full of grime, pain, and hard labor, cradled my baby’s
bottom and stroked his back. No two beings have ever loved so deeply
for so short a time. I stood awestruck. The old man rocked and cradled
Erik in his arms and his eyes opened and set squarely on mine. He said
in a firm commanding voice, “You take care of this baby.” Somehow I
managed,
“I will,” from a throat that contained a stone.
He pried Erik from his chest unwillingly, longingly, as though he
were in pain. I received my baby, and the man said, “God bless you,
ma’am, you’ve given me my Christmas gift. You see, m’am, I never saw my
child grow up. My wife and son were taken from me in an automobile
accident when they were both too young. I was never able to get over
it.”
I said nothing more than a muttered thanks and “I’m sorry to hear
that.” With Erik in my arms, I ran for the car. My husband was
wondering why I was crying and holding Erik so tightly, and why I was
saying, “My God, my God, forgive me.” I had just witnessed Christ’s
love shown through the innocence of a tiny child who saw no sin, who
made no judgment; a child who saw a soul, and a mother who saw a suit
of clothes. I was a Christian who was blind, holding a child who was
not. I felt it was God asking, “Are you willing to share your son for a
moment?” when He shared His for all eternity. The ragged old man,
unwittingly, had reminded me...
“I tell you the truth, unless you change and become like little children, you will never enter the kingdom of heaven.” -- Matthew 18:3
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