Raising His Hand

I was walking down Hudson Street in Hoboken, with a couple bags of groceries. Up ahead of me, I saw a father and son (who was about 10 years old) meet up with a couple on the street. It was obviously a random meeting, much, “Hi!” “Fancy meeting you here!” “Hi!” The two men shook hands, the father gave the woman a kiss, and I saw both members of the couple kindly shake the hand of the little boy. The grown-ups started chatting, catching up – and I was struck by the little boy’s face. He had dark brown hair, pale skin, and freckles. He was wearing gym shorts and a T-shirt. He stood there politely, on the outskirts of the grown-up conversation, looking up at the grown-ups (he obviously knew the couple as well). As I approached, I saw the little boy raising his hand and he was saying something – repeatedly. He wasn’t being bratty, or insistent … he was trying to participate, and he’s 10 years old, so that was how he did it. It took a couple of seconds for everyone to notice. I heard him say (and I don’t know what it means, but I am assuming it had something to do with sports), “I made colonials … I made colonials … I made colonials …” The grownups were talking to each other, and not noticing at first – so he just kept saying it – but his face was lit-up and friendly – he wasn’t a brat insisting on taking the spotlight. He wanted to share his good news. But nobody noticed at first, and then his father did, and he interrupted the grown-up conversation and said, “Oh! Yes! He made colonials!” I was just coming up alongside of them at this moment, and I heard all of the grownups suddenly shift gears, and say stuff like, “That’s so great!” “Good for you!” and begin to ask the little boy questions about it.

And that was that, I had moved on, but I found myself smiling from ear to ear. And also strangely moved.

The courage of children kills me sometimes. They are small human beings, in our midst, with full three-dimensional lives going on, big events, and yet they’re lower on the food chain (for now) than adults, and they know that, so they wait on the outskirts, waiting for a moment to tell their news.

The grownups, in the give and take of their adult conversation, don’t need to raise their hand in order to have permission to speak, to take the floor.

But kids do.

It was the sweetest moment of two worlds meeting – two stages of life – adult and child – that it’s stayed with me. His hand raised in the air (he wasn’t pumping it up and down like Horshak, he just kept it up … waiting for someone to notice), his small voice saying his good news over and over … and I remember feeling anxious, for about 1.2 seconds, that nobody would notice what was going on with him. That the adults would keep talking, and not include him, and he would be left all by himself, his news rejected or ignored. There are so many ways that adults can invalidate kids, it doesn’t even have to be openly, or with words … it’s subtle and kids get the message: “You are lesser than …” Now there’s a time and place for all of that, of course. Kids do need to learn that they have to wait their turn, that there is such a thing as grown-up time … but this was not one of those moments. It was a social moment, a meeting on the street of four people – 3 adults, one child. The Hellos were said, the greetings made, and the little boy had to just share his news, so he put up his hand, waiting for someone to notice. And his father did notice, and brought him into the loop, included him in the human family, basically. You are 10 years old, but your news is good news, and we should share it right now.

I was proud of that little kid for getting his needs met, in such a quiet and effective way. And I loved everyone in the group for segue-ing into a conversation about what was going on with him. Stuff like that means so much to kids. It really does.

It reminded me a little bit of this heart-cracking moment between me and Cashel.

And congrats, kid, for making colonials. Good for you. Whatever it is.