I remember once when I was a little girl, I had a terrible dream. This was one of those dreams that wakes you in the middle of the night feeling all icky. The type of dream that borders on a hazy reality. In this dream, I was trying to get somewhere and was late. Little did my young mind know that being late would be a habitual problem in my adulthood. (If you know me, I am either late or early, never on time.)
But I digress. I am late getting somewhere, the place in which I need to get is never really defined. I distinctly remember a schoolyard. This schoolyard is filled with many people, young and old. It is interesting because of the schoolyard, which resides on the side of a hill, looks down toward the rest of the town. It’s night time, just dark where you see the lights from inside homes and on street lamps. As I walk up the hill in the yard, I weave in and out of the crowd like a snake looking for shelter. Then I come upon a slab of cement. It reminds me of a four-square area but there are no lines, no ball, and only one child. This child sits alone in the middle of the area, knees curled up, arms wrapped around his legs, and head tucked down. What’s interesting about this dream is that no one is stopping to help the child. People move here and there, focused only on getting across the yard, paying no attention to the child.
The thing that strikes me in remembering this dream from ages ago, is the child. There he sits. Alone.
How many times have we put our heads down and walked past the child or even adult in need? How many of us see others put on the brave face but deep down, there is a scared, isolated child? How many of us are that child?
I honestly don’t remember much more of the dream. But if I could rewrite it, I would stop and sit with the child. I would offer help, a shoulder to lean on, just be present with him.
Slow down. Look around. Spot the child in your space and pull up a chair. “You are safe. I’m here for you. I’m glad you’re here.”
Mena T. Hill
Educator, Wife, Mother, Colorado Native