About a boy
I saw the most annoyingly cute boy on the bus this morning. He was at that weird age for a boy, anywhere between 10 and 12, where he could either grow-up in a real hurry, or stay childlike for a little longer. You’ve seen this happen before. A boy gets a little awkward, his voice goes deeper and his legs grow longer, and he gets quiet and sullen. He doesn’t understand what is going on with him, he just feels these rushes of testosterone that are both euphoric and enraging. It’ll take him a little while to get over it, but the sad reality is, there is something wrong with him. He wants to play, but his body just isn’t that interested in the same old games. Worse still, his mind hasn’t thought of new games to play yet. It is no wonder then, that among 11 year-old boys violent games reign supreme. They are super pissed off, and with reason.
This boy was the exact opposite. he was child-like in his mind, but at the age where he had to have some responsibility, not because he wanted it, but by necessity. So here was this little boy on the big boy bus. Waiting at the stop he was either jumping all over the place, or he was unabashedly hugging and kissing his father.
On the bus he would walk up to the parents of kids in his class and ask questions that went nowhere. He would ask yes or no questions with absolutely no follow up. Do you like roller coasters. Yes. Cool.
The part that really got me was when the bus was leaving and this kid waved good-bye to his father, for at least 5 minutes until he could no longer see him. It was awesome. Of course such perfect moments can’t last forever, and invariably an older boy asked him, “What the hell is wrong with you” as if thinking your Dad deserves an extra long wave is somehow bizarre.
Apparently this little kid was of the same opinion as me, except he didn’t even understand how this kid could ask a question like that. He had no idea he was about to be ridiculed by an older, tougher, more pissed off boy. We’ll call the bigger kid Chad, and the little boy Toby.
“What are you, a fag?” said this gruff little piss-ant Chad. I have to hand it to Toby though, he stuck obliviously to his guns. “What you don’t love your Dad?” to which of course Chad exclaimed “Not like that” as if love was somehow a bad thing. I saw a mix of pity on little Toby’s face, as if he really felt awful for someone else not loving their father with their whole heart. In one moment he saw a life he could never have, and he looked like he wanted nothing more than to give the tough guy a hug.
Maybe I’m projecting, because I was like that when I was younger. I waved too long, I asked pointless questions, and I jumped around, not for sport, recognition or prizes, but for fun. Before the world told me I was wrong for just being a dumb little kid, I was just a dumb little kid. The saddest day of my life must have been the day where I stopped wanting to be like that. The saddest thing now is that I don’t even remember when that happened. All I know is that I had to do something to keep this kid truly happy, one day longer. I couldn’t control the future, I couldn’t be his father and choose to never look at him and tell him it is inappropriate to kiss him on the mouth when he turns 15, even though he’s been doing it since he was born. I couldn’t be this kid’s friend, to always be there and never make fun of his naivete. I was on the bus this morning however, and I could stop this bully from darkening his day. So I did. I told a 14 year old boy that he was bothering me, and that I didn’t like to hear little children be referred to as fags. I told him he had best stop doing that because no matter how much bigger he was than this little boy, I was bigger than him. And I told him that as long as he thought he was bigger than little kids, I always would be.
Then I asked the little boy if he liked roller coasters. He smiled and said yes. I said cool. I didn’t have a follow-up question.
