lost boys

Today was the annual U of A English Dept GA/faculty picnic. We were at a park in west Akron talking about our classes and how fast the summer went and eating yummy food when I noticed two little boys on the other side of the pavilion. They were both crying--no, sobbing--and one of them was wailing, "I want my mommy."

Now, it's my natural tendency to turn away from things like this and let someone else deal with it--preferably someone with some parenting skills (because I'm afraid of getting into something that I don't know how to deal with, not because I don't care). But no one else seemed to notice these boys, so I walked over and asked them what was wrong. One of the boys explained that his mom had left them at the park and they wanted to go home. I don't know if the mom was gone five minutes or an hour, but judging by their faces and their level of panic, it had been a little while.

Thank God for cell phones and bottled water. It was about 92 degrees and humid as all get out. The boys were soaked in tears and sweat and snot and obviously terrified. But they used my phone and mom said she was on her way back to the park. Meanwhile, a man comes over and says that he's a fire fighter and if these boys are unattended then we should really be calling the police, not the neglectful mother. He says if she's not here in ten minutes, he's calling a squad car.

Next thing I know, the boys are climbing into a car and riding away. And I can only hope/assume that they were getting into the right car. I wish I had stayed with them a little longer to make sure. And to kick the crap out of the person who left them there. Doesn't she watch Law & Order? or the news? I could pull my hair out thinking about how someone could leave a couple of six year olds at a park.

I can't stop thinking about these boys. About how scared they must have been. Wondering what happened after they got in the car. But also (and I know this is the writer in me) how nice it must be to be able to express your emotions so openly that a stranger can see that you need help. How these little boys, obviously best friends, felt no shame in crying together. Made me wonder, at what age does crying become inappropriate? And at what age do we start being afraid to ask for help or show vulnerability? Wouldn't all our lives be easier if we were able to vent fear and frustration as easily as children?

This makes me very, very sad.