A Boy and a Popsicle

Passing Strangers: The heart wants what the heart wants

Hi Friends,
Summer’s in full swing here in Atlanta. We’ve had rain about every day, mostly in the evenings which is great because it keeps it cool and everything breathes more when it’s lush and green. I walk in Piedmont Park early each morning as a way to inoculate myself for the day ahead. Some days I call my mom, tell her all the things I’m seeing on my walk. Nature was the church she raised us in and since she can’t get out the way she used to, I try to bring her along.

I’ve been reflecting a lot on parenting lately. I’ve been actively doing it now for almost 30 years and I have at least another 15 to go, which is crazy. But not really. I love being a dad. Nothing in my life has mattered more and nothing has been harder. I think about how little I knew at 26 and how little patience I had. I regret not having been able to be more present in the early years of raising my two grown children but so much of it was just the terrifying reality of survival and providing.

As I help my partner raise her her little one now who’s a few weeks away from turning seven, I’m happy to have a second chance to do a better job. Being a parent is easily the hardest job to do and the easiest one to get. This week’s portrait is not a big dramatic moment. There’s no violence and no abuse. It’s just a snapshot of a little person who needs to be seen.

Peace & Music,

Ben

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Passing Strangers is a weekly series of fictional portraits— keyhole views into the lives and inner worlds of other humans. These are standalone pieces but if you look carefully, you might begin to see a how they’re all brush strokes in a broader landscape. Visit the table of contents to find all the portraits.

Maybe they will see baby ducks today, maybe. If they be patience. It takes lots of patience. He really, really wants a popsicle. Last time he got the cookies with cream kind but Mommy doesn’t always let him have one. He doesn’t know why. They taste so good.

Mommy’s hand is hot and sweaty. He says it’s discomfortable but she doesn’t let go. She says they are in a hurry and there are too much people. She’s always in a hurry.

He sees two squirrels chasing each other up a tree. He wants to stop and watch where they go, but when he stops to look, she makes the angry voice and tugs his hand. He hurries after her. He wants a popsicle and he wants to see the ducks. If he makes her do the angry voice too many times, he won’t get anything.

They go a different way to the playground. It’s taking a long time, like a bjillion years, like as long as it took the dinosaurs to get made. His favorite dinosaur is the T-Rex.

His feet hurt so bad. He tells Mommy that but she doesn’t hear him so he says it louder. Two grown-ups turn and look at him with frowny faces. Mommy stops real fast and then her face is in his face, big and red and mad.

“Stop it, right now. You whine one more time and no TV for a week. Do you hear me?”

His face gets hot and his tummy starts to hurt. This is the worst day ever. Her eyes get small like she’s trying to read one of her big books with the tiny words that don’t have any pictures. He nods and her face stops being mean. He didn’t even ask for TV.

They start walking again. He sees popsicle man with his little rainbow umbrella but he’s way far away, like California. Daddy’s in California but most times he’s in the phone. He points at popsicle man and tells Mommy he wants one please.

“No, Gabe, we’re not doing that today.”

He starts crying just a little bit. The rainbow umbrella gets smaller and smaller, he feels more sadder, so sad he can’t hold it in. He’ll never get a popsicle ever again. The man will be gone and he will give all the popsicles away to other kids. It’s not fair. His tears are big and wet and cover his face and he cries really loud.

Mommy doesn’t hear him. She just keeps taking big steps and pulling him behind her. Her hand is hard. Soon he stops crying. He sees a squirrel eating a Cheeto. He wonders if ducks like Cheetos. He likes Cheetos. He doesn’t think baby ducks can eat Cheetos. Their mama would say no, no, no.

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I’d love to know how what you think of this series of portraits. The magic in anything I post here usually happens when you lean in. How do you encounter strangers?