Wednesday, January 02, 2019 Adrian Wood Comments (0) You may have seen him today. Or, at least, a rendition of him. The little boy with the funny gait. Loping amidst a crowded beach, impervious to personal space, a stomper of castles and thieve of shovels. You may have seen him today. Or maybe, for you, it was a woman, clinging to the hand of her sister or mother, waiting expectantly for her flight. Or maybe, if like me, it was the young man, a glimpse of my own son in twenty years, who lay on the cool of the tile in the shade of a cabana meant for respite from the sun. We waited for grilled cheese sandwiches and I watched him and wondered. For him, it appeared to be a break from the crowds, the laughter and camaraderie that doesn’t come easily for everyone. You may have seen him today. A towhead in an old pair of Birdwell Beach Britches, held up by only a swim diaper, too small for his five year old self. He moved here and there, sought refuge in the lap of his mother, snuggled his ever present blankie and took her face between his small hands. You may have wondered why or why not, why don’t or they should, but then you caught yourself. You remembered that all people belong to someone, with their quirks and cantankerous ways, faces marked by silly joy. You smiled and said hello, you noticed, but not in a peculiar way. We all have a place, you told your children, we all matter and are loved. Every one of us. You may have seen him today. You offered him a cupcake when he gazed too long at your proper picnic and he returned to me, gleeful, with his prize.

Thank you for seeing him.