Loneliness
There was a little girl at the park today . . .
She pulled at my heart.
Too plump, jagged teeth, pale, unhealthy skin, clumsy . . .
She wore a lime green shirt that said " I'm on the Honor Roll in TALKING".
That shirt bothered me.
She did talk . In a highpitched squeal she jabbered, "Baby, baby, baby, baby, baby" at my little girl. Turtle, like the sunny child she is, laughed and smiled and crowed back for a while. But her attention was pulled in many directions in that sunshine-filled park -- so much to see and do!
As Turtle turned away, the girl in the green shirt floated off. She came back from time to time, squealing "Baby" repeatedly and, at intervals, said "I think she wants to play with me" and "I can make any baby smile."
And there was just something indefinably sad and pathetic in her high voice and pale chubby face. I couldn't put my finger on it.
Children ran screaming through the park, chasing and laughing, absorbed in their play. This little girl wasn't playing with the others. She was alone.
Finally, she came back to me and Turtle and she said, softly: "I have no one to play with. No one my age will play with me. I ask them and they say 'No'." And then, as if she had been speaking to herself, she drifted away.
Ah, so she was lonely.
I would have given worlds for Turtle to not be 13 mos, but 7 or 8. Or even to be 8 myself. She wanted a friend. At that moment, so did I. And she was so sweet.
I know how it feels to be lonely, too.
Turtle and I left the park without seeing the girl again. I felt a sense of futility. I wished I could have made her happier. I hadn't said any comforting words. She came and went so quickly as my mind was fumbling for something of use to say. I had barely said anything to her, as she was talking to Turtle and flitting back and forth. What could I have said? I am a "grown-up" and she needed a 8 year old.
The words written on her shirt linger in my mind. Does she, or will she someday, sense that there is a hidden disrespect in those words, emblazoned for all to see? Did her parents buy her that shirt? I hope, oh, I hope not . . .
God, please bless her. Let her know that she is beautiful and important and keep her company so she will not grow up lonely.
She pulled at my heart.
Too plump, jagged teeth, pale, unhealthy skin, clumsy . . .
She wore a lime green shirt that said " I'm on the Honor Roll in TALKING".
That shirt bothered me.
She did talk . In a highpitched squeal she jabbered, "Baby, baby, baby, baby, baby" at my little girl. Turtle, like the sunny child she is, laughed and smiled and crowed back for a while. But her attention was pulled in many directions in that sunshine-filled park -- so much to see and do!
As Turtle turned away, the girl in the green shirt floated off. She came back from time to time, squealing "Baby" repeatedly and, at intervals, said "I think she wants to play with me" and "I can make any baby smile."
And there was just something indefinably sad and pathetic in her high voice and pale chubby face. I couldn't put my finger on it.
Children ran screaming through the park, chasing and laughing, absorbed in their play. This little girl wasn't playing with the others. She was alone.
Finally, she came back to me and Turtle and she said, softly: "I have no one to play with. No one my age will play with me. I ask them and they say 'No'." And then, as if she had been speaking to herself, she drifted away.
Ah, so she was lonely.
I would have given worlds for Turtle to not be 13 mos, but 7 or 8. Or even to be 8 myself. She wanted a friend. At that moment, so did I. And she was so sweet.
I know how it feels to be lonely, too.
Turtle and I left the park without seeing the girl again. I felt a sense of futility. I wished I could have made her happier. I hadn't said any comforting words. She came and went so quickly as my mind was fumbling for something of use to say. I had barely said anything to her, as she was talking to Turtle and flitting back and forth. What could I have said? I am a "grown-up" and she needed a 8 year old.
The words written on her shirt linger in my mind. Does she, or will she someday, sense that there is a hidden disrespect in those words, emblazoned for all to see? Did her parents buy her that shirt? I hope, oh, I hope not . . .
God, please bless her. Let her know that she is beautiful and important and keep her company so she will not grow up lonely.
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