A Prairie Home Companion from American Public Media: First Person

A Child's Gift
by Bruce Ashton
December 7, 2006

Every now and then life brings you something unexpected. Sometimes it's good and sometimes it's bad. Fortunately this time I was able to observe one of life's good moments.

The toddler was making her way down the street slightly in front of her mother and another woman. She had probably grown restless and her mother was now allowing her to work off some of that energy all children posses at this age. You could also note the child was also taking her initial steps that were beginning to define her way into the world. I had been watching her for a couple of minutes. Child watching is something I seem to be doing more of since I became a grandparent. What happened next was entirely unexpected and developed so quickly. The child spied the old, tired man sitting on the street before either her mother or I did. To you and me he was one of our street people, the type whose appearance told you how he would smell before you actually smelled him. To her, he was someone new, someone she had not yet met. With a couple of rather swift steps the child was standing next to the man.. Briefly they both studied each other from separate worlds. One who knew nothing of what life would bring her, the other not caring what life had to offer. And then it happened! The child threw herself at the man and kissed him. Before any of us could react, she giggled and continued her journey up the street and on into a promising world.

The act had been committed, a gift from a child, a kiss. Given with no restrictions and no costs. Given so quickly and so startling and yet with what seemed to be with a definite purpose.

And now the adults became involved, as you would expect. Caught off guard, the two women came forward trying to recoup for their moment of slight inattentiveness. What was said I could not hear, but it appeared to contain the elements that we adults posses. A quick brush-off apology to the man and a whole list of 'Honey you mustn't' to the child. As so begins the transformation of the child into our world.

I continued to study the man after they had left. Don't ask me why, but I did. Maybe it was just me, just my imagination, but as the man arose it seemed that he did so in a manner that indicated he knew that today he has received a very special gift from a child. Something that you or I could not give.
About the author:
Retired, grandpaw, NPR volunteer, married 43 years.