Little Tommy knelt beside his bed, to say his bedtime prayers. He did this on his own, his Mom and Dad didn’t tell him to, they didn’t make him. Tommy liked to talk to God, to thank God for his day.
“Dear God. Thank you for today. For all the fun I had playing that jewels game on Mom’s phone. That games a lot of fun.” He nodded, and rested his elbows on his bed. “I know I’m supposed to say thank you for the broccoli casserole Mom fixed for dinner tonight, but do I really have to? ‘Cause, you now. I don’t like broccoli. That stuff tastes nasty.”
Tommy looked up at the ceiling of his room, “Maybe you could redo broccoli, make it taste better, so all us kids would eat it?” He smiled. “But you don’t have to. You know more than me, I know. And maybe you made broccoli taste like that for a reason.”
He bowed his head once more, “Thank you for my Mom. Even though she has to punish me, and put me in time out sometimes. I know she’s just trying to teach me how to behave better. How to stay out of trouble.” Tommy looked at his ceiling once more, “But it’s so hard to always be good. And so easy to make mistakes. Why is that? I don’t know. I can’t figure it out. Maybe you could ‘splain it to me?” He smiled. “Yeah. I know. I’m only six. Maybe I’m not old enough to figure it out yet.”
He bowed his head again, “Thank you for my Dad. Even though he screams at me sometimes. Mom says it’s ‘cause he works hard all day, and needs a timeout when he gets home.” Tommy frowned, “I don’t understand that. I don’t know what that work thing he does is. And he won’t tell me. And Mom says I’ll find out soon enough, and to not rush it.” Tommy looked up at God again, “It sounds like work’s a bad thing, doesn’t it.” He nodded. “Maybe you didn’t make that.”
Once more, he bowed his head, “And God. Now I make my wish. But I’m smart, God. You know that. You made me that way. So I don’t wish for me.” He nodded, “Nope. I wish for everybody.”
Tommy closed his eyes, “Dear God, I wish people would stop yelling at each other. And stop fighting each other. And stop calling each other names. It’s like they’re trying to hurt each other.” He pressed his hands together. “And that’s wrong. Hurting each other’s bad.”
Tommy looked up toward heaven once more, “People should talk, not yell. They should build things, not fight. They should grow trees, pick up the garbage in the parks, play games together.” He closed his eyes and prayed, “I wish people would do that, God. I wish they’d stop hurting each other.”
He bowed his head once more, “In Jesus name, Amen.”
Then Little Tommy climbed into his bed, and pulled his covers over his head, and dreamed of a world where his wish came true.
It’s April 27th, and the A to Z Challenge for 2016 is in it’s last few days. Only 3 more letters to write stories for this month.
Please, go explore the A to Z Challenge, and the sites of others who are participating in this adventure.
On Sunday afternoon, as I mowed the lawn, I saw Tommy sitting on the front porch of his house. His chair was turned to face the wall. He didn’t have anything with him. No book to read, nothing to draw on, no phone to play games on. He sat quietly, and faced the wall.
On Thursday afternoon, when I got home from work, Tommy was in his backyard, on his hands and knees, his head at grass level. I watched a few moments as he slowly raked the fingers of one hand through the grass and watched the blades move. When he was done, he moved forward a couple of inches, and watched his fingers pass through the grass once more.
On Monday night, Tommy was hiding under my wife’s car when I got home. I crouched down, “Tommy? What are you doing under there?”
On Sunday night, just after sunset, I heard Timmy in his backyard screaming, “Illuminate!” Being ever curious, I decided to investigate. I started by peeking out of the window, and watching him. He was running around his backyard with a flashlight. Every so often he stopped, pointed the flashlight at something, screamed, “Illuminate!” and turned the flashlight on. Then, he turned it off, and repeated the whole process.
On Thursday night, Little Tommy was stretched out on his family’s front lawn, staring at the clouds and the sky. “Hi, Tommy! Whatcha doing?”
When I got home from work Wednesday night, six year old Tommy was in his family’s backyard, screaming as loudly as he could, “HELLO!”
On Tuesday, when I got home from work, Little Tommy was waiting for me. “Mr. William, can I ask you something?”
On Monday, I got home from work, and Tommy was riding his ugly toy Chevy in his family’s front yard. I parked, and he said, “Hi, Mr. William!”
I loved talking with Tommy, the neighbors six year old. He had his own perspective on the world, and it was not tainted by what other people thought.
My Soul's Tears 