A Boy Remembered

Every child, no matter what their race, creed, or color, should be able to experience life at its fullest in their early, informative years of growing up, but there are times this is impossible to achieve as you will read in this story.  I believe it to be an important time that should not be taken from them—for a better choice of word that they might use; stolen from them. 

The “wonder years” of a child’s development can never be regained or replaced once they are lost.  A child is a child only one time in their life and they are entitled to enjoy their childhood for all it’s worth; if at all possible. 

These times should be special and most memorable, although they are like a vapor that quickly vanishes, or a fluffy, white cloud that is here one moment and gone the next.  Such is life.  It reminds me of a scripture in the Bible.

(James 4:13-14), “Come now, you who say, ‘today or tomorrow we will go to such and such a city, spend a year there, buy and sell, and make a profit;’ ” vs.14 “whereas you do not know what will happen tomorrow.  For what is your life?  It is even a vapor that appears for a little time and then vanishes away.”

A child needs to do what a child does best at this young, innocent age, without interference; to know the joy of splashing through puddles along rain-drenched streets, and feel their feet sloshing around in water soaked tennis shoes. 

They should know the pleasure of lifting an already wet face toward the sky and try to catch a few raindrops in a mouth opened wide; to use their sleeve to wipe the end of a cold, runny nose; to observe the beauty of a rainbow without having to peer through fogged windows with curtains drawn that restrict the enjoyment of drinking in the magnificent colors of the spectrum. 

Young children need to know the splendor of romping and playing in tall, grassy meadows that have been dried by the hot, scorching sun; to feel the course blades stroke against soft, delicate skin.  Every child should know the joy of sliding down a hill on cardboard and screaming at the top of their lungs; just to absorb all of the innocence that life has to offer. 

Boys and girls should experience the companionship of fellow playmates and have freedom to enjoy their company; to share and compare ideas; to learn the art of getting along with others; not backing down from the challenge of sticking up for one’s self even if it means getting a bloody nose, or better yet, giving one instead.  All of these wonderful things and much more are a major part of childhood development.

Learning experiences for some children are denied for various reasons.  They often interpret this as being unfair and cruel.  They cannot comprehend or reason in their deprived, hurting heart why they are unable to do the things that other kids their age are doing.  All of the explanations and talking from their parents are vain, empty words; words that have little meaning to a child that wants to play like other boys and girls.  They feel cheated. 

All of these special moments and hours have been stolen away, in a matter of speaking.  Mere words cannot replace the pleasure and fun that have not been experienced.  All the child hears is, "You cannot participate!"

Exciting events that ought to occur in early adolescence mold the very fibers that make up the inner-most part of a child's personality and disposition.  If they are allowed to encounter challenges early in life, these special events produce a more rounded individual.  Every youngster should be acquainted with ups and downs, such, that they find themselves, and where they belong in life as they grow into adulthood. 

Facing defeats and conquests help develop character and understanding of oneself, including limitations that temper expectations not only in themselves, but others as well.  An adult is more capable of facing trials and tests that life throws in their pathway when they learn early on to cope.

Growing up in the small town of Martinez, California, I remember a little boy that lived on a narrow street that was always in disrepair.  He had most of his adventures and personal experiences snatched away as a child, because he lived much of his childhood indoors. 

His play-yard was the living room, and his roller skating rink was the hardwood floors that lead from the living room, through the dining room, into the kitchen at the back of the house.  Growing up he felt that his childhood years were stolen from him.

He was a handsome boy with blue eyes and blond, natural-wavy hair.  The cleft in his chin came from his dad, and his cute, button nose from his mom.  Freckles covered his nose where the sun had kissed him during his rare visits outside.  He was the last child of four that was born to parents late in life. 

The boy always wished that he had a younger brother or sister to play with while growing up, but he was raised alone.  His older brother was almost fourteen years his senior, that married when he was eighteen.  The boy’s two sisters were eleven and nine years older than he.  Each married at the age of sixteen. 

This boy never knew the joy of simply following the sound of a cricket to its hiding place under a rock, or catching one in a jar to study from whence the musical frequencies were coming.  This young boy missed out on camping in the wilderness of his own backyard and never experienced the awesomeness of listening to the eerie sounds at night; allowing his imagination to run wild.  He did not experience the joy and awesomeness of watching shooting stars streak across the clear, black-velvet sky. 

There was a special day in December that came once a year.  It was a day like no other day.  It was not the twenty-fifth day of December, but the fifteenth instead.  It was the boy's birthday.  This day was always the same; no different than any other winter's day in years gone by.  It was rainy and cold. 

I can still see him, like it was yesterday, as he gazed through the front window of his home watching children scamper up the steps to the front door.  Some were carrying packages wrapped in colorful birthday paper, while others carried white envelopes. 

He could only imagine what the sealed envelopes held secret—no doubt a birthday card with a crisp, dollar bill folded neatly inside.  This was not a happy day for this young lad.  It should have been, but it wasn't.  The birthday boy was sick just as he had been in prior years.  He never knew the joyful thrill of having a party; playing Pin the Tail on the Donkey, and all the other games that are played at birthday parties.  He was always sick. 

It was the same scene and the same sadness every year.  His mom would go to the door as he peeked through the closed curtains, watching happy faces of anticipation turn to faces of disappointment as she told each one the discouraging news of his illness. 

Her words thundered in his red, fevered ears as he watched each boy and girl turn and slowly walk away carrying the gifts and cards they had brought.  To this day he still wonders what each package held as a surprise and how much money he would have received.

Tears coursed down flush, rose-colored cheeks as he watched each child leave, one by one.  His heart was crushed as though it were the pain of rejection that he was feeling.  He asked himself, "Why can't I be like other kids?"

Why did life seemingly sidestep this boy?  Why could he not do the things other kids were allowed to do?  It was because he had allergies to various pollen, certain food products, dust, animals, and more.  He was allergic to just about everything.

He was kept indoors to prevent these elements from manifesting negative affects on him, which would cause physiological disorders in his body.  He also had several battles with pneumonia.  With all of his parent’s safeguards, inflammation and infections still tried to claim his frail body, but he refused to give into these viral attacks.  He bravely fought back with all that was in him. 

This blue-eyed fighter had the appearance of one that battled a ten round fight in a boxing ring.  He was pale with dark circles under both eyes.  Though feeble from the exchange of blows in these encounters, he won each conflict.  He refused to give up the fight.

This courageous boy has now grown into adulthood.  He is both physically and mentally healthy—a walking miracle, because his parents knew how to pray and God answered their prayers.  His wavy hair has given way to premature balding with patches of gray at the temples. 

As he looks back at his childhood he understands why fun times could not be experienced.  He knows the answer to his childhood question, "Why can't I be like other kids?"  He realizes why things were the way they were. 

Most importantly, he sees the undying devotion and love that his parents had for him.  He understands their struggles and perseverance now that he has raised three children of his own.  His mom and dad did what any concerned parent would do—protect no matter what the cost.  

Together, the boy and his parents won the battle.  Life's experiences were not stolen from him at all; life instead was given.  The boy, now a grown man, enjoys the little things in life, which are the big things in loving life.  I know this to be true, because the boy in the story was me.

I, like my parents, raised my children with love and prayer.  I taught them at a young age that God hears and answers prayer when we pray in faith believing.  My wife and I strived to be godly parents and to impart good values, integrity, and knowing the importance of loving and serving God.  They are now raising their children for the Lord.

I won each battle as a child, because of the faithfulness of God and my caring parents.  I was meant to survive childhood to father my three children, so they too could become parents to our five grandchildren.  God’s plan is perfect.  God didn’t forget me during my struggles, I was a boy remembered by Him.

(Proverbs 22:6), “Train up a child in the way he should go, and when he is old he will not depart from it.”

Written by,

Papa Boyd