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Listen to thisA continuous torrent of rain fell from the sky and I was soaked as I pulled myself onto the bus that mercifully had just arrived at my stoop. I was on my way to the hospital for an uncomfortable injection. The day had all the promise of a trip to the snake petting zoo!
The bus stopped again, the door schlupped open and on came a little girl, about four years old, followed by a woman carrying several bags. The pair dripped just like everyone else. I looked again and my jaw literally dropped open. The child was simply amazingly beautiful. Ruddy pink cheeks as if in an advertisement for skin cream. Huge sparkling eyes. Long, glossy, curly hair. The smile that was soon forthcoming not surprisingly showed perfect white teeth.
The woman, quite obviously her caregiver ("babysitter" is really not the right word), guided her charge to sit in a vacant seat. Eyes vibrating with curiosity, the child looked around.
Then she began to talk in one of those guileless, spontaneous clear children's voices with inflections reflecting pure excitement in living and interest in the world.
"It’s so wet!" she exclaimed. “But we’ll be dry now". “Look at all the people on the bus". “Did my toys get wet ?" “My pants got rain on them". After someone got up leaving a vacant seat opposite where the little girl was seated, she looked up at her caregiver, still standing, and pointing, said “There’s a seat for you". Not only beautiful, but thoughtful and aware.
Like a ripple effect other passengers from front to back subtly were energized to attention as they became aware of the child. Their lackadaisical postures changed to upright sitting so they could watch. We were all simply transfixed.
The bus ride continued with smiles playing at the edge of everyone’s mouths as they tried unsuccessfully to concentrate on their newspapers and novels. The continued narrative of the child, “Somebody just got off". “ Look at my shoes". “Are my toys still wet ?" drifted down the aisle.
Her caregiver periodically put her arm around the child, and smiled gently as she whispered something to her. She patted the little girl’s pants thoughtfully as if trying to assess how wet they were, and also to say, implicitly, “I can’t dry them now, but I will later when we’re home", a gesture in itself bringing comfort. She spoke softly, affirming the continuous commentary of the small child. It suddenly hit me. I was seeing right in front of me the “dance" of relationship between a child and a caregiver, just as Mark Krueger describes it. The attention was initially focused on the child; as the time passed the quiet, subtle, warm support of her companion gradually became entrained and soon it was the interaction between the two that kept people riveted.
As for me, I was so moved by this scene and interchange that tears lurked behind my eyes, and so delighted that my mouth was wreathed in smiles.
As I wiggled my way to the front of the bus to get off at the hospital, I stopped before the woman and the little girl. “You both brought sunshine into this bus and day. Thank you," I said.
So what’s the Soapbox aspect of this ? Probably none – except to share my experience of the joy of children, the beauty of caregiving. Rain and sunshine, smiles and tears, delight and dance.
By the way, my injection didn’t hurt much at all.
