Suffer the Little Children

SUFFER THE LITTLE CHILDREN

David died this week. He was just three years old. I didn't know him, but the picture in the newspaper showed him as a tousle-haired little boy with a shy, engaging smile. I don't normally read obituaries, but the sweetness of his smile captivated me. "Died in the arms of his parents after a brief and mysterious illness," it read. As the youngest of five children, David must have been very loved. I can't even begin to imagine the unspeakable sorrow engulfing his family. In lieu of flowers, his parents' only request was that you speak gently to your children.

Speak gently to your children. What a powerful statement.

As we teach our children the potency of the English language, they learn that words can be a poison arrow through the heart, or a soothing balm to the soul. Words said unthinkingly can harm an impressionable child. Words also have the power to console, heal, encourage, and uplift.

What a gift for any child, to have this legacy because David had died, and this was his parents' wish. Flowers may be a temporary comfort, but a kindness done for a child will have positive and long-term effects.

Caught up in our daily existence, we sometimes take for granted the precious little ones who are a part of our lives. Life itself is fleeting, like a wisp of wind that is suddenly stilled.

I was reminded of a recent shopping expedition in Wal-Mart, where I was shaken to overhear an angry confrontation between a mother and daughter, words that made me wonder what could have possibly aroused such anger.

A little dark-haired girl of about six years old was cowering amidst a display of winter clothing. She was trying to wedge herself as far back into the clothes as she could. The mother was clearly out of control, unaware or perhaps not caring that anyone in the vicinity could witness her tirade.

"Melanie! When I tell you to come with me, I mean it! I am sick and tired of you not listening to me. I am your mother! Not your friend! Not your cousin! Your mother! Do you hear me? You have to listen to me!"

Her voice escalated shrilly as she ranted on, ending with, "If you don't start listening to me, I am going to slap you silly!"

With those words, the mother's hand snaked out to hit her daughter. The girl slunk further into the protection of the clothes, but this only enraged her mother even more. She yanked Melanie's arm, and I heard the sting of a slap. Melanie cried out, and I caught a glimpse of tears and fear on her face as she struggled unsuccessfully to escape. My heart ached for the child who was at the receiving end of her mother's wrath. I felt ashamed for the mother, and embarrassed that I didn't know what to do. Glancing around, I hoped someone would intervene. No one did. Hesitating for just a second, I made my decision and firmly took a step forward.

My hesitation lost me the chance. Mother and daughter were headed in another direction, the mother doggedly stomping along, her face like a storm cloud. Melanie trailed behind, looking miserable, fighting back tears. I stopped, and with a heavy heart, watched them go. Suddenly I didn't feel like shopping anymore.

The old adage, "sticks and stones can break my bones, but words can never hurt me," ran through my head. That rhyme is a lie. Words can wound as surely as a blow. Depression or mental problems can be accountable for some people's actions, but that does not justify abuse of any kind. I pray that one day Melanie's mother doesn't have to experience the loss of her child, and then live with regret.

Imagine if we were to remove such negative phrases as, "Don't bother me now, I'm busy," from our vocabulary, and replace them with, "Of course I have time to listen to you." What if we banished blame and hostility, and welcomed compassion and respect, would the benefits not be twofold? Our fulfillment would be complete if we cherished the moments that matter, practiced forgiveness, and above all, always counted our blessings.

David's parents have the right idea. Speak gently to your children today. You may not have another chance.

Maria Harden
(c) 2002

Story ID:	195
Written by:	Maria Harden (bio, contact, other stories)
Story type:	Musings, Essays and Such
Location:	Winnipeg Manitoba Canada
Year:	2002
Person:	two children