Lessons on trust
And a perfect ending for all of us
Three boys sat in the row in front of us – the shortest with eyebrows so blond they disappeared in a sea of white, in the middle was tousled brown hair and sunglasses, and tallest had an afro. They looked like they’ll walk through the doors of high school for the first time in a few weeks.
How often do adults whine about “kids today”? Myself included.
But, in stands packed with loud and excited fans, the boys were respectful. 100 percent. Not an ounce of the obnoxious behavior that’s everywhere today.
Adults could learn a thing or two from them.
We were all there to see the Vermont Green FC play. An undefeated season – and the USL2 National Championship on the line – everyone anxious for a perfect ending.
With just enough time to get some food before the match started, the boys turned to us and politely asked: “Will you save our seats? We’ll be right back.” Their eyes pleaded for permission, as if they needed our OK.
We nodded, and I moved my purse, and my husband, Scot, moved his feet to guard the precious few open spots on a long metal bench full of chanting fans.
When they came back, the boys had reversed the order of their line. “Are you our boys?” I warmly teased. The man next to us chuckled. “They switched order on you.”
An hour into the game, they turned again and asked if they could get down for “just a minute -- we’ll be right back.” We nodded again and moved in to protect their seats.
There was a genuine sweetness in these small exchanges. A trust. In adults they didn’t know.
It reminded me of a Jonas Brothers concert on cold November night at the Bell Center in Montreal. My daughter and my nephew sat closer to the stage; we, parents, were up in the rafters. That time, it was three girls – about the same age as the boys – speaking in French who turned to me and my sister. We nodded, and they hurriedly scrambled out of their seats.
“What did they ask?” Scot wanted to know.
My French language skills are rusty, but I understood they were asking us to watch their coats and purses while they went to the restroom.
“How did they know they could trust you?”
“Universally trusted Mom vibes,” my sister said to Scot. “We have a look.”
I thought of “our look” again last night.
The moment I became a mom I realized a newfound responsibility to protect not only my child but all children. Deep inside of me sprang a well of new superhuman strength, one I was to now use to guard all children.
Unfortunately, I encountered reality – and the limits of my abilities. I’ve fallen short again and again. Even our greatest fictional superheroes can’t protect all children from harm.
I saw a social media post the other day about Pope Francis answering questions from children: Why does God allow harm to children? That, he responded, is the “question for which there is no answer.” He said the young girl who asked him the question “wasn’t even able to express it in words but in tears.” Neither could he. He hugged her instead.
In a world of shattered trust, that children still believe in us at all is pretty extraordinary.
We, adults, have all let children down again and again.
Sometimes, I’ve only been able to be the trusted adult in a crowd who said “yes,” preserving their trust and protecting their innocence for a moment longer.
They deserve so much more. We all do.
Perhaps, we could all learn from the boys’ example last night:
· In a crowd of people, stand out by behaving with respect and trust.
· Do our best to protect one another from harm.
· Then all jump, sing, and cheer together.
Celebrating the perfect ending.