We were the only family with children in the restaurant. I sat my
infant son 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 merriment. 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 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." I said nothing more than a muttered
thanks. 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 complete and
unconditional 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 Heaven,
we
must become as little children."
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