"He's such a problem child!" declared Pamela Hicks, with all the authority her position as kindergarten teacher allowed. Terri Williams said nothing and walked away. Perhaps if this teacher had not taken her aside before the bell rang for recess, Terri would've simply "policed" the playground and counted the minutes until this weekly duty was over, but hearing those words spoken with such condemnation had exposed a memory she'd buried from her own past. Terri was angry at herself for not speaking up, and angry with Hicks for labeling a child.
Terri sought this boy out. She wanted to study him and discover why he'd been called an outcast at the tender age of six. Did this child march to the beat of a different drummer? Her empathy opened a closed door to her own psyche as she struggled to understand this boy named Tom.
He stood in the middle of the sandbox, fists clenched. Unruly, coal-black hair framed a round, cherubic face with a bronze complexion that caused one to focus on the child's icy blue eyes--eyes that seemed to speak in some kind of smoldering hostility. His four-foot frame was poised like a boxer waiting for the bell. He was dressed in a torn, faded sweatshirt. The collar, hanging limply around the thin neck, helped accentuate the mud-splattered blue jeans, with two very bruised knees poking out. His face appeared to be frozen in an angry glare, and he stared menacingly at any child who dared to encroach on his territory. The other children seemed to have developed a healthy respect for this quiet boy who let his body do the talking.
Once assured he'd be left alone, Tom pulled the arms of his sweatshirt up over his elbows and dropped down in the sand onto his knees. He picked up a cracked plastic shovel and started to work on some mental design, biting his lip and frowning as he dug. Slowly the sand started to take shape.
"Wha'cha doin?" asked a boy, about five-years old, standing a few feet away from the sandbox. After waiting a few moments for a response, he timidly asked, "Tom, can I help you?"
"Go away!" answered Tom. "I don't want your help!" His voice had a slight lisp, which explained the care he took with his words. He uttered them slowly, with a hardness that went far beyond his six years.
Tom didn't stop to look at this unwelcome intruder. His small hands continued to shape and prod the moist sand. Puzzled by Tom's angry response, the boy shrugged and walked off to rejoin the other children.
Tom showed no outward interest in what the other children were playing. He seemed isolated from the laughter and the constant mingling of his classmates' high pitched squeals when another game was won. A ball bounced into the sandbox, and he nonchalantly swatted it back out with the plastic shovel, never losing the intense concentration etched on his face. He poked, patted, dug, and when not satisfied, would jump up and stomp on the offending sight. These outbursts would cause the ever present frown to deepen, and his thin lips would poke out in an obvious pout.
It didn't take him long to create a private world of castles, bridges and forts. A gratified smile appeared on his face, and he tossed the little shovel aside. He rocked back on his heels and, for a moment, looked like all the other little boys running around the playground.
Upon completion of his sand world, Tom started to show an interest in his surroundings. He appeared excited about something as he brushed the sand off his clothes and tried to push the unruly hair away from his brow. His blue eyes lost their icy glare and seemed to dance with some private delight. He positioned himself along the rail of the sandbox and silently watched the other children wander from the swings to the many impromptu games of hopscotch, kickball, and jump rope.
A sudden smile lit up his face, revealing two missing front teeth. Excitedly, he jumped to his feet and waved to a little girl who'd just entered the playground. Tom was transformed in the blink of an eye. His features softened and he bounced up and down while waving at the girl. She waved back and carefully maneuvered her way through the swirling mass of children, not stopping until she stood by the sandbox.
"I knew you'd make it," Tom said, softly, as he reached into his pockets and pulled out two toy soldiers and two matchbox cars. "I built everything we need," he added, angelically, as he held out his small hands, the lines of anger on his face completely consumed by a loving glow.
"It looks great!" the girl said, looking in wonder at his creation. "I'll live in the castle!" Taking his hand, she laughed, as only a child can. Tom laughed with her, as if this was a secret only the two of them could understand.
Slowly, carefully, Tom helped his dear friend into the sandbox. His eyes never left her face, and he showed no discomfort over the metal braces covering the little girl's legs.
Such a heartwarming story; even kids who appear tough on the exterior aren't as tough as they first seem to be, especially when dealing with children with disabilities; their willingness to help them makes them forget of their own troubles, and they reach out to someone who is in need! Love the message in this story! A story we ALL can learn from! Caring for others starts young; and it is a valuable lesson for all! ((((HUGS)))) and much love, your friend in Texas, Karen Lynn. :D
Rovella is a beautiful woman with a cold heart whom blames herself for an unfortunate old family secret that is literally ruining her life. This secret impedes a gorgeous woman from having happiness in her childhood, and throughout her life. Dark sec
