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 highchair
tray. His eyes were wide with excitement and his mouth was bared in a toothless
grin. He wriggled and giggled with glee.
I
looked around and saw the source of his merriment. It was a man with a tattered
rag of a coat, dirty, greasy and worn. His 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 know
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 love 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-gently,
so gently, 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 for a moment, and then 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."
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, "To enter the
Kingdom of God, we must become as little children."