A Small Encounter

Today was family day at the Centre D'Art, and numerous children and their parents alternately sauntered, ambled, and flew into the space to engage in a three hour frenzy of mask making and djembe drumming. Unlike many such events, I think that everyone present actually had an excellent time. The older folk as well as the youngsters could carry the required beat with ease and grace, and those under four feet tall left in an at once satisfied and anguished state – they wanted to continue making, most certainly. I was particularly struck by one small child who approached the desk shyly and began an earnest and charming conversation with the hero of this blog. Upon complimenting him on the mask he was wearing (adorned with furry pom-poms upon the brow, and a glittery array of sequins across the bridge of the nose and down onto the cheeks), the young person confessed his love of making and how he wished he could make art all the time, which naturally endeared himself to the hero's heart. With all of the eagerness of youth, the friend asked whether the hero has any siblings, to which she confessed she does not, and he replied that he has a younger brother. The two sized each other up: he was in first grade and at a height appropriate to such endeavors, and she at this point was sitting atop the stainless steel front desk, leaning dangerously over the counter and straining to hear the soft whispers of a shy voice (made a bit bolder because of the mask, she thought). He assuaged the hero's fear of condemnation by declaring it was okay that the hero is an only child, which made her feel an multitude of strong emotions in rapid relay. It's okay. The hero exchanged names with the young friend, alias Adrian, and they performed a somber handshake to solidify the friendship. All the while, Adrian was peeling off bits of glue and sparkly materials off of his small hands, and he presented a ball he had fashioned from the peeled bits to the hero, who admired it and asked if he wanted it back, to which his response was well, i'd rather that you have it if you'd like, in the sweetest voice imaginable. The hero thanked him profusely, but wanted to shout to his guardian who was a little distance away: Mother, this absolutely wonderful, completely heartbreaking child will grow into a wonderful but heartbroken adult because he will love people and places and ideas ardently and will suffer disappointments (but also the truest of joys) as a result. Take care to repair his feelings when they are hurt (and they will be hurt frequently, alas!). But instead as they conversed about pumpkins and the autumn, and a flood of older, taller people came in wanting a thousand answers and they didn't see him there, and so his questions were lost in the clamor of other voices. The hero wondered, why is it that now we can't go up to strangers and profess our love of activity and divulge secrets to them and be shy and captivating? What is it about youth that lends a necessary wonder to the world? When do most people lose that bright-eyed excitement or learn to ignore it or see other things instead? Why do we have to pretend to be self-assured and comfortable when we are anything but? To Adrian and everyone like him: keep on loving, be fearless, go well!