The Little Boy

The Little Boy

I was on the beach Sunday evening before dinner. My green bucket served as my stool. It was parked within three feet of the extended surf. The sun had already slipped behind the mountains across the bay and I was experiencing the beautiful yellow red sunset. I casually tossed rocks into the shallow surf as I reflected on my final night in Haiti.

I caught sight of a small boy coming up the beach. He wasn't walking fast, but he seemed focused on a specific target; me. I didn't really pay attention to him until he get within five yards of me. He was young, probably five or six, was barefoot with shorts and a pullover shirt on. He had a small kitchen knife in one hand and had rather large eyes. I watched as he walked over to me and gently moved my arm aside off of my leg and made room for himself on my lap. He really didn't climb onto it, just leaned heavily on it. He said the customary, 'bonswa', or good evening, to which I replied the same. I looked into his eyes and said, 'bien', or 'good'. He said the same back, turned and watched me toss another stone in the water, I handed him one and, with a large white smile, took it and also tossed into the water where I had. We repeated the game for a couple of minutes in silence. He turned and gazed deep into my eyes, almost as saying, 'I am different; I am the future of my people and long only for your love.' Then, as casually as scratching your arm, he straightened up, said a short word in creole, which indicated 'bye', and sauntered off. I watched as he meandered up the beach, never looking back until he disappeared.

He was the first young boy who didn't have his hand out. He wanted nothing but to experience my presence, if only for a few minutes. After that, satisfied, he continued on in his little life.

Perhaps there is a wonderful future for Haiti. That little boy and his innocent participation in my life for only a moment shows me there is.