Capturing Joy

He didn’t stand two feet high. His little blue shorts covered his knees leaving a small band of skin before his legs were hidden by grey socks that matched his T-shirt. His blond curls told of a mother not quite ready to relinquish her baby to little boyhood by taking him for his first haircut.

No matter how much the mother might want to keep him a baby, this child was ready to be a boy as he raced up and down, up and down, up and down, his legs looking like pistons in a speeding car with boys of seven and eight as they chased a white and black round football. In all their heads, I suspect, they were playing in the coming World Cup.

Despite the speed the older boys didn’t knock the little one over. By some miracle, the ball ended up his feet. Still unaware of the rules of the game, the child picked it up. The meaning of glee could never be better defined than on that child’s face.

He held the ball to his chest. The older boys paused. The little one threw it as hard as he could, but it only dribbled a few feet to where one of the boys put the ball back into play.

The little boy raised his hands over his head and resumed running a scream of exultation thrust from his heart.