He was a lively, animated young boy, only a few months away from reaching his first decade of life and I was newly married and in my late twenties. I had seen him around before, but since I had no children of my own, I did not know him or other children who lived in the neighborhood. If I had known then the degree to which he was about to change my life as he approached our house, I might have run inside and hid behind my sofa. But that’s not what happened.
The moment he said hello, I was captivated by his charm and congeniality. He explained to us as we stood in our front yard that he recently discovered we had a mutual acquaintance and was seeking confirmation, which he received. The conversation’s momentum took off from there. Before I knew it, the boy and I were covering a multitude of topics and when he mentioned his favorite book, The Mouse and Motorcycle by Beverly Cleary, I gasped in pleasant disbelief at yet another thing we seemed to have in common. I adored that book when I was his age and had forgotten that it even existed. I hadn’t spent much time talking with children in those years and as I watched him trot back to his home at the end of our street, I remembered what it felt like to be nine years old again and how easy it was to establish a new friendship over a very brief period of uncomplicated conversation.
It was almost nine o’clock that night when I heard the doorbell ring. As I opened the door, there was my new friend standing barefoot in the chill of that October night, holding out his beloved copy of The Mouse and the Motorcycle. It was a gesture that has stayed with me ever since. I read the entire book (again) that night to secure my confidence in discussing it with him the following day. The rest is history.
Over the next years, I would grow to love this boy, along with his five siblings and his many, many friends like they were my own children and since my husband and I hadn’t planned on ever having children of our own, it seemed like a perfect opportunity to play the role of an “unofficial aunt”. Our lives were now filled with cherished, young souls because of this one boy. These children helped us with projects, they spent hours in our living room drawing pictures (which I still have), they accompanied me to work to assist me in running programs and activities for residents of a local nursing home and so much more. They filled my days with sunshine and made my heart ebb and flow in ways it never had before. But the more I came to know the kids in my neighborhood, the more I came to know about their struggles and the painful unfairness that some of them knew all too well. During those years, I witnessed the courage of a resilient young man who used his gift of humor and wit through a tracheostomy tube that altered his voice, yet gave him life-sustaining breath. I was faced with having to make a decision on how to respond to a neighborhood child’s plea for $10 after being told that if he didn’t come home with some money, he would be beaten. I visited another young and troubled boy in the hospital after he accidentally shot himself in the stomach while trying to impress his friends. I was given several opportunities to tell that same young man how special and necessary he was in this world and had to watch in agony as he continued on his destructive path, refusing to believe he was here on this earth to do anything other than take up space.
I remember joining a few of these kids on the corner of a busy street just days after the attacks of September 11, 2001, holding candles in one hand and our hearts in the other as cars drove past and honked to express their pride and sorrow. I saw the worry in a father’s eyes as he shared with me that his daughter was dating an older boy who was selling drugs and only partly understood the degree of panic that a parent might feel over such a discovery. I was given opportunities to just be present, listen and encourage these kids with their best interest in mind, yet I was sheltered from the unbearable emotional load it can place on a person when it is your own child who is in danger. Nevertheless, I had been broken enough to be changed by the truths I now knew and my life had suddenly become saturated with the aroma of an entirely new kind of love. If I had been given an opportunity to turn back to that fateful, October day and hide behind my sofa so that I could continue living in ignorant bliss, I would not only refuse, but throw my sofa to the curb. These children awakened something from deep within my soul and they have taught me some valuable lessons: 1) They taught me that love is not always about feeling good, in fact it is not about feeling at all. It is a deliberate act of “doing” something loving or “being” a loving person for someone else’s benefit. 2) They showed me that the world is ravenous for a little love and a little goes a long way. 3) They helped me see that there was more in me to give than I realized, despite my lack of experience and many insecurities and shortcomings.
They gave me a tiny glimpse of what it means to be made vulnerable by someone else’s vulnerability and how much courage it takes to truly love. I would never be the same after meeting that boy and the many lives he brought across my path and within a few years, my heart had been so deeply impacted by them all, that I had convinced myself and my husband to courageously enter into the chaotic and heartbreakingly beautiful realm of parenthood and we have been blessed with two amazing daughters of our own as a result. As if my cup were not overflowing enough, these neighborhood kids also inspired me to make the empowerment and spiritual growth of youth my life’s mission.
The kids we knew then have all blossomed into young adults and that old neighborhood is now bustling with the hopes and dreams of a new generation. Some we have lost touch with and some we haven’t. I have returned to those streets a few times over the years for a moment of nostalgia, but there are few recognizable signs of life as we knew it not so long ago. Even our old house looks different. But I can still see each of their beautiful faces parading around on the streets of my heart, where they made themselves at home years ago. It is the one place on this side of heaven where we never parted and where I can visit with them any time I wish.
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