Friends

The child was a mess. Belligerent, violent, adorable, but prickly like a cactus. Mischievous to the extreme. If you were watching him, you'd better make sure you never took your eyes off him. He had a grin as wide as his face and he flashed it right before you tried to reprimand him for running off or hitting someone. It was hard to stay angry when he was grinning at you. He had favorites, people he'd let in, and one of them was his teacher. His name was Jarred but we--the kids, the staff, his boss, everyone--called him Mr. Cat Daddy because he could do the Cat Daddy like no one's business. I'd seen him do it several times. Incidentally, Jarred was everyone's favorite, largely because of his ability to do the Cat Daddy.

At any rate, he and Cat Daddy were huge friends. I could not do the Cat Daddy, plus I am a girl, which is a giant liability in the eyes of a seven year old. On a good day, I was tolerated.

"Elizabeth." Mr. Cat Daddy obviously had his hands full. "Go make sure he's all right." Me? Are you sure? Okay. Cat Daddy sent me over to the pouting child. If he could've pushed himself INTO the wall, he might've.

"Hey, buddy. What's the matter?" Silence. Not that I'd expected a response. I sit down next to him and see that he's been crying. I'm no good with crying, but I try again. "What happened, buddy?" I can only assume that he was at his wit's end, just completely at the end of his seven year old rope (or maybe it was the grace of God) because he wails out this pitiful, barely understood story about hurt feelings and being angry. I make an effort at the problem solving techniques we've been taught, to little avail. He's still crying.

Then out of nowhere he says, "I miss my daddy!" He crawls into my lap and keeps crying. I rub his back and ponder. It's an appropriate reaction. Life is big and scary and sometimes you need your daddy. Heck, I missed MY dad and I had plans to see him soon. There was nothing I could do about it, though. I couldn't get his dad for him. I wasn't even sure if his father was in the picture. I couldn't heal his hurt feelings. I couldn't make it better. And so, I sat there with him on my lap and I cried. He was crying, I was crying. I don't know if he knew I was crying, but there we sat, crying together.

Afterwards, he and I were friends.