Features Column

Bringing out our inner children, for better or for worse

By sharon martini

The Southwest Community Connection, Oct 1, 2009, Updated Oct 30, 2009

A friend’s son was killed last month in Washington, D.C.

Reading his obituary, navigating the list of his accomplishments, awards and successes, the line that resonated most with me was: “He was a rambunctious toddler, known to run down the street in just a diaper.” It made me smile. I chuckled as I pictured a spirited, independent bundle of life, tearing down the road with mortified adults trundling after him.

The other morning, I dropped my son, Malik, off at the bus stop. A young girl, somebody’s daughter, sat on the sidewalk smoking, surreptitiously, a cigarette.

I enquired rhetorically of my son: “Is that little girl smoking?” I had seen quite clearly the curly, acrid, plume of fume.

“Yep. Bye, mom. Love you.” He dashed from the car, secretly hoping his mother wouldn’t say anything but knowing in his heart I would.

Bidding him farewell I drove forward stopping beside the “little puffing princess,” and enquired: “What grade are you in?”

She lifted her head, turned toward me, hesitated, then, finally lifting her eyes, she replied: “Seventh.”

“Why are you smoking?” I questioned. “It will kill you.”

“I know,” she resolutely replied.

1 | 2 Next Page >>

Facebook	Digg	Del.icio.us
Newsvine	Stumbleupon	Reddit