Daniel is asking the same questions I began to ask at his
age. Why did “I” come into the world as
part of this family at this time and not in some other time and place? He’s conscious now that he has consciousness,
and wonders if the generation of this consciousness in this place and time can
be intentional, have a purpose. On the
heels of this question comes the next difficulty: If the Universe began with a big bang, what
made the big bang happen? How is it
possible for something to exist where there was nothing? He’s discovered two of life’s most perplexing
mysteries.
He tells me he believes in God. He tells me he’s happy for having life,
whatever the reason, happy he’s got this “I” and gets to exist and experience
things like soccer and swimming in the ocean and friendship. There’s so much wisdom and compassion and
gratitude in his little body already.
It’s what I have desperately wanted for him: that he will recognize the
sanctity and dignity of his soul, that he will be a light in this world---a
good person who can love and appreciate simple gifts.
Recently he was mocked for something he didn’t know. And he felt bad. But he was also sad for the kid who mocked
him. Didn’t this other kid understand
that he was just starting to learn?
Isn’t it the case that we all have things we don’t know about yet? Why not help, why not inform, why not
teach? Why condemn ignorance or error? He didn’t turn the shame inward as I might have
done at his age (or at my current age, for that matter). I have a nine-year-old who, at least
sometimes, turns the other cheek and pities the tyrant.
I wonder. Last year,
Daniel watched “Catching Hell,” a documentary that tells the story of Steve
Bartman, a Cubs fan who became the scapegoat for an entire stadium and then an
entire city for doing what any fan would do---going for a ball that came his
way in the stands: a ball that might have been caught by Moises Alou for a
second out late in a pivotal game 6 of the National Championship series. Yet the outcome of that game had everything
to do with how the Cubs played the remainder of the game. It was one play, an iffy one at that. How did it come about that someone had to be
crucified? An angry mob, fanned by media
focus, identified this bespectacled, devoted Cubs fan named Steve Bartman. A chant went up in the crowd. Steve was eventually escorted by security out
of the stadium while spectators spit on him, hurled obscenities and threw
things at him. The mounting force of mob
hysteria in the stadium that day evolved into relentless persecution of this
fellow in the media and in the community for years after. This is a guy who had to change his address,
his phone number and the name on his credit card out of fear of being assaulted.
My sweet boy grieved that night for Steve Bartman and the
unjustified contempt this innocent man bravely and gracefully endured. He asked if I thought he was okay now, if
things got better for him, if people had stopped hating him. He
couldn’t sleep.
