Boy on the Metro

A few weeks ago, I wrote a post about Fraser, the delightful groundskeeper at a hostel in Rowardennon, Scotland. I mentioned that occasionally I was going to post about memories I have of people that have had a significant impact on my life.

While I was on my mission, I actually had an entire notebook dedicated to remembering the dozens of influential people I met and interacted with. Today I'm remembering the one that inspired the formation of that notebook. It seems that oftentimes I don't know the names of people who impact me the most and this individual is one of the nameless ones in my memory. The first and only time I saw him was on a metro train in Rome after a long hard day of missionary work. He was an Italian boy in his twenties (much older than the boy in the picture but he seemed younger) and he had Downs Syndrome. I was so immensely touched as I watched him that I went home and wrote down my experiences. It was on January 14th, 2007. This boy's dad was with him and I overheard his dad explaining that he was going to get off at the next stop but that this boy was to keep riding for three more stops where his sister would be waiting to pick him up. The father stepped off the train on to the platform and waved to his son. I watched as this boy called in a loud voice to his father. "Ti amo, Papa! Ti amo! Ti amo, Papa! Papa, ti amo!" ("I love you, Dad! I love you! I love you Dad! Dad, I love you!") He knelt on his seat and pounded on the window, waving. I watched as he blew kisses and called to his father long after the doors had closed. He continued to call to his dad until he was out of sight. Then he turned and sat down with a happy grin to me and said, "Ciao. Amo mio Papa!" ("Hi. I love my dad!") Maybe it was because emotions were close to the surface that day because of the nature of our work. Maybe it was because I missed my family. I don't know the reasons behind the tears that welled up in my eyes as I reached out and patted this boy's hand but they began to fall. He smiled at me and squeezed my hand.

Such a small experience. Such a little thing. But I changed that day. I can't even explain how, but I did. His open expression of love, his kindness to me, his disregard for the raised eyebrows and glances from those around him... everything about this boy symbolized pure love. I don't think I'll ever forget his face and yet he likely doesn't remember ever having seen me. That day I realized how much we impact people around us, even people we've never met.

In a completely separate note, a new reader of my blog asked for the answer to three somewhat unrelated questions. Here are my answers.

1- I hate mustaches. And goatees. And flavor-savors. And chops. And beards. And facial hair. Camping stubble is acceptable, and even preferred.

2- I like it when a guy leads me over to his jeep/ truck and starts talking to me about the engine and the carburetor and the spark plug and the timing belt and the catalytic convertor and the piston ring like I know what the heck he's talking about. I think it is rather attractive. But that only works with certain people. Other times it's annoying.

3- And yes, I hate Vernal.