My husband Andy had an early softball game tonight so the kids and I met him there to cheer him on. And by cheer him on I mean I tried to catch him at bat at least once while watching four-year-old Sophie climb all over the bleachers and feeding tiny cut-up grapes (dinner) to her two-year-old twin brothers. Near the softball there's a nice playground area, and Sophie knows this. I think Andy was only into his second inning when I finally gave in to Sophie's pleading and took the kids to the swings.
We had almost reached the playground when a little girl who looked to be about Sophie's age ran up to us. She said she liked our stroller. She helped me push it. She tried to unbuckle Owen while I was putting James in the swing. Once the boys were in the swings Sophie pushed James and the little girl pushed Owen. She wanted him to go high. I said not too high. She listened. I noticed she was staring at the boys' shoes. She looked up at me. She said she liked them.
I looked down at her bare feet, caked with dirt, bits of long-ago red polish on her toenails. Her plaid green skort and halter top were soiled and stained--and not the kind of dirty that clothes get after a hard day's play. But the kind of dirty that clothes get when they're worn often and not washed. She was missing an arm and as such her halter top was skewed sideways so that one nipple was exposed. She had a wide scratch underneath her chin and a small one above her right eyebrow. A young boy walked past--someone she obviously knew--and she scowled at him and said, quietly, "dirty bastard."
I thought so many things at that moment. I thought about her home life. I thought about those words, "dirty bastard." I thought about her mother. I knew her mother wasn't there because at one point a teenager slowly walked over and said "Be good or I'm going to tell your mama on you." The little girl scowled at her, too. I thought about the girl's scratches and hoped they were akin to the bruises covering Sophie's legs--signs of playing hard rather than hard living. Looking at the girl, I should have felt blessed with all I have but instead I felt ridiculous. I thought of my Amy Butler diaper bag, the expensive Stride Rite tennis shoes and sandals on my children's feet, Sophie's Dora-branded, fancy flip-top water bottle, the smart phone in my purse. Although I am not rich, I felt spoiled. I felt sorry for her. I felt sorry, for all of us, living in a world in which so many have so much and so many have so little.
Sophie, of course, wasn't thinking any of this. She was just delighted to have someone to play tag with. The girls chased each other all over the playground. They slid down the slide together, hand in hand. They climbed up the rope ladder together and sat on a platform together and at one point, when the little girl was elsewhere and Sophie was swinging and fell, the little girl ran over, concerned.
They were friends.
Eventually the little girl joined some teenagers and children at a picnic table. And Sophie found someone new to play with. But when it came time to leave, Sophie insisted on saying goodbye to her. So we walked over. And said goodbye. Sophie gave her a hug. The little girl hugged her back.
We left.
While walking back to Andy's game, still in progress, I asked Sophie about the little girl. Sophie said she had fun playing tag with her. And then she paused. I braced myself. For questions about the little girl's missing arm. The scratches. The dirty clothes. The words, "dirty bastard." And then Sophie said, "She wasn't wearing any shoes."
"No," I said. "She wasn't."
"Well, I don't want to wear any shoes then, too."
The little girl was admiring my boys' sneakers. Sophie was admiring the little girl's bare feet.
I love the way very young children so quickly friend each other, without thought to sex, class, race, popularity, appearance. I hope Sophie maintains that sense of openness, always. Especially during those oh-so-difficult middle-school years, when absurd things like a shirt's brand name matters. (And, let's be honest. For many of us, it still does.)
And while I loved their short friendship, I hated the fact that I met a child tonight who was forced to wear such dirty clothes. Who was missing an arm. Who knew the words "dirty bastard" at the age of 3. It made me hate what I have. And hate what she didn't have. And hate that some--many--have much, much more. And then I hated all the hate that was flowing through me. And so I tried to be grateful. Grateful for the two girls' smiles and laughter, for their quick friendship, for their goodbye hugs. Grateful for what I do have, even if it makes me feel spoiled. Grateful I had the childhood I did and grateful my children have the childhood they do. And grateful that, despite it all, a game of tag is still a game of tag--oblivious childhood fun.
I hope I remember that little girl always. Especially on days when I want. And I hope I can embrace Sophie's attitude and instead, turn it around and wish for bare feet.
This post originally appeared on Kara Gebhart Uhl's blog, pleiadesbee.com
One VERY important question does not appear to have been asked "Honey, where's your Mama? Who's keeping an eye on you?"
If the answers were "I don't know" and "no one" - something needed to be done. That little girl could have disappeared in an instant if someone with less honorable intentions made such a decision. It's possible one of the teenagers was an older sibling and was keeping half an eye on her, but.. if not?
You left a 3 year old alone by herself at a park.
that's a problem.
She states in the article that she hated her nice things because she compared herself to a little girl who had nothing.
Instead of taking the opportunity to share that good fortune.But also to act like the educated writer she is and take action to ensure the safety of a 3 years old in possible danger.
There is nothing wrong with being rich.And if you are rich and not aware of the world around you then that's your prob.That only would show that you are rich and ignorant.You can be rich and kind and generous and take action when action is call for.
1800 4 A CHILD
boystown.org
And if you care about helping change laws to help children like this little girl please join PROTECT.ORG
And to learn about child abuse and neglect and what one can do google Andrew Vachss he has a site "The Zero".
No one should have to tell you this stuff. It's human kindness 101. We are the angels they are waiting for.
We wall ourselves off in gated communities. We move to the suburbs and shop in expensive malls so that we dont have to be reminded that there are lots of families struggling to put food on their table. We work very hard to keep the poor out of sight, out of mind.
But every once in a while, our paths cross with a kid from the other side of the tracks and it is shocking to us because it destroys our illusion that everything is ok with the world. It makes REAL that there is a direct cause and effect between our incessant focus on acquiring more stuff and kids who dont have enough to eat.
If we want to eliminate poverty, and the ugliness our lavish lifestyles create, the only way to do it is to truly open our eyes to it. You cant just put a few dollars in the collection plate on Sunday and then go back to your $5 lattes and luxury SUV's and pretend that makes everything better.
Instead of asking 'What can i DO? "How can i help?"....Yeah you said 'unintentionally' too.
I went to the authors site and she had a quote about being able to tell a lot about our society by the way it treats its most vulnerable members..............She did not get it.It was talking about the people like her.Who will do nothing.
Again, I am not saying anything about the author personally nor am I echoing your self-righteous indignation. I am making a general point about how American consumerism brainwashes us to ignore poverty, mostly because it's bad for sales.
As for being barefoot, that's very common place where I live. I see barefoot kids all the time. Not because they're poor (which how can you really judge that?) but because they want to be barefoot. I even see the occasional barefoot adult. I'm one of those at home and in my yard. I'm afraid to go out in public barefoot, though. I'm always afraid some one will look down on me and will try to give me a pair of shoes.
As for the story, I thought it was a great reminder to not take what we have for granted. I have very little, but I appreciate every little bit of it.
Its very easy to think that we would have done differently or worse that we would have done 'better.'
Life has a way of making liars and hypocrites of us all. Bearing that in mind, look at the opportunity created here by her blogging about this. Look at the discussion. Someone has been posting resources for us that maybe we would not have known about.
Maybe the author did learn something, or maybe a seed of truth was planted within her for her to examine against her own values. Maybe the opportunity for growth is finally ripe and this shall be the catalyst.
Maybe she and all of us can accept that it wasn't handled perfectly, but isn't it more healthy and beneficial to assist change by being positive with other people in regards to their own growth and not projecting our expectations upon them?
Just my thoughts.
I wish the author the best and sincerely hope that despite all of the negative feedback, there is still a thoughtfully blooming individual that will continue to push herself towards betterment always.
who knows how her mom wouldh've reacted to her takings shoes from a stanger.
Acting can immerse an individual into depths most choose not to explore.
A trip back, sans one's own children would be wise. Another witness would help. A physically impressive one might be prudent, if you plan to challenge another's parenting.
Oh, and a videocam. And running shoes.
Ask any police officer what call they most dislike responding to. The answer is almost always a domestic disturbance, or domestic abuse.
Put simply, NO ONE wants someone else "butting in" on how they are raising their children.
If you have genuine concern, make the report.
But, please, tread lightly.
This is my hope. That the economy rises so much that we don't have to have arguments with closed minded people because there will be no scarcity to fight over. I firmly believe that the better lives we experienced under Clinton were largely due to economic good times, not due to a more enlightened and concerned citizenry.
you have no way of knowing if the child had shoes or not...could have them and chose not to wear
I have struggled with many a child over the issue of going barefoot