Andy

Little scamp, spoiled brat, little boy blue.  You choose. His name was Andy and he wall all of three.  His head was turned towards the sitter who sat beside him in the booth.  The restaurant was busy over the lunch hour but before me a real life drama was being enacted.  I did not want to be there.  It was and stayed … a battle of wills … and I was an unwilling participant but it was not my will that came into play.

I watched from across the table, one little boy and one determined sitter.  She had just told him to look at her and he had.  So close I could have touched him had I reached across the table that separated us.  So close and yet so far.  I saw clearly the sweet line of his plump firm cheek, his determined little chin, the downward curve of his full rosy lips.  I sat spellbound as the sweep of thick lashes were raised to reveal the most beautiful blue eyes.  These eyes were trained, unflinchingly … upon the face of his sitter. He was stubborn yes, that could not be denied but I wondered in this instance why? It was such a simple thing she asked of him that created an obstacle too large to squash. 

His small head was held proud … upon little shoulders … bowed beneath the weight of her censure.  He was not going to say “Please.”  No matter the pressure she inflicted and that was great, he stood his ground against the words that battered around his head. It was but conjecture on my part, only a feeling deep within my heart that his wee heart was hurting, broken.  The eyes held all his thoughts, silently pleading that she would relent.  His fisted hands sat still upon the table, never moving.  He did not squirm, not once in his seat, nor did he kick his little feet under the table.  I would have known.  The only movement that I saw at all, were the convulsive workings of his throat as he fought valiantly to keep back the tears that glistened and threatened to drop.  I watched helpless as he overcame the need to cry.  So little, so young, so determined. He would not back down. He would not say “Please.”

He was only three, what could we do?  He was only a baby still and I so much wanted to gather him safely to me and hold him tight.  I wished with all my heart to place a smile upon that dear sweet mouth.  I wanted to tell him it didn’t matter, that he did not have to say “Please” and pour that ketchup over his chips. Time after time, bypassing the sitter, I tried to humour, cajole, tempt, play and practice my please and thanks, all to no avail.  I could not save him.  He would not be saved.  Then when I least expected it I heard a small voice say quietly …”Please.” 

That was all I needed.  Quickly I ripped open the packet of ketchup and dumped it down by his fries.  He looked at me with a sparkle in his eyes.  Short stubby fingers picked up the fry and dipped and dived and it disappeared and then shyly, he offered one of those prized fries to me.  The hell with my diet.  I said, “thank you Andy.”  He just looked at me and gave me another.   We had no more trouble, but I’m still troubled.  What was all that stubbornness about?  Why dig in his heels when he could have dug in his fingers?  There is only one thing for certain.  The Little Boy Blue, a baby still was pulling his own strings.  He was living his own Story.  He was fighting his own battles and winning, however imaginary these battles might have been … they were very real to him ... He made me a believer in the strength of the Human Soul … from one so young to one so old.