I’ve heard it said, God speaks through other people, and quite often not necessarily gently. It seems, you haven’t been listening, so he has to hit you over the head to say…
PROSPECTIVE SUSANNAH…KEEP IT ALL IN PROSPECTIVE!
This was the case yesterday as I hurried home with a Key Lime Pie a friend baked for me, annoyed that not only do I now have a pie in a cooler no less I can’t eat I’ll end up giving to the doorman, but she made me pick it up.
I’m from Connecticut where all gifts get delivered by the gifter.
So I’m muttering to myself, sweat pouring off me in the..now do you believe in…Global Warming heat, when a mom, dad and a child in a rather big stroller come towards me.
They stop to get something from a bag draped over its handles, when I see the little boy who’s around 6, has no hair. He blinks at me in the harsh sun with a face so sad aimed straight for my heart.
It dawns on me the little guy is sick, not that anyone is mewling about it, including him, though he wasn’t your average kid having a grand slam summer either.
The mom smiles. “It’s pretty hot out here.”
“Yeah,” I say, trying not to stare at her son.
She then starts putting sunblock on his hairless head. “He won’t wear a hat,” she says, “so every few blocks he gets a little.”
The kid who you know has been through much worse, stoically sits with that same look as if to say, why can’t everyone just leave me alone.
I then notice his father keeping a supportive hand on his small shoulder maybe thinking, I wish I could just take him to a baseball game.
Me and my pie want to cry, now ashamed, when it nudges me and says, “Hey, I’ve got an idea. Maybe he’d like me.”
“Do you like pie?” I ask him.
He perks up.
“Ah-ha. Well, I have one here a friend baked for me as a belated birthday gift I can’t eat.”
“How come?” he asks, speaking for the first time.
“I’m not supposed to have sugar.”
“Then why did your friend make you a pie?” From the mouth of babes.
“Good question,” I say, now wondering this myself.
Just then one of my doormen go by as mom is applying more sunscreen.
Since he’s bald too, he says, “Hey, could I have a little a’ that?”
The kid loves this as his mother squirts some in his oversized hand.
As we’re all about to leave, the kid says, “What are ya gonna do with your pie?”
“Hush now,” says mom, “that’s not polite.”
She looks embarrassed before saying, “He loves dessert.”
I’ve heard it said, God speaks through other people, and this time did it sweetly, as I stroll home with my doorman who never knew just how close he came to a homemade pie with…
Happy Birthday Lolita, blazing across it.