Wild Child

Blog #19

      There were a number of children playing outdoors with my new jump rope.  There were several mothers watching us play.  I was called in for dinner and, unfortunately, I had to take my rope in with me.  I asked the others to give it to me.  One boy named Jimmy refused to give me his end.  I grabbed it as any red-blooded six year-old would, but he refused to give it back.  Finally, in anger and impatience, I bit his hand.

      The mothers, who were standing around, were appalled and started talking in loud voices about how “filthy” it was to bite someone and what a bad girl I was.  I just started crying uncontrollably and could not stop.

      I ran inside and my dad put his arms around me and had me tell him what happened.

He told me quietly that that wasn’t a very nice thing to do, but, rather than punish me, he let me cry and hugged me for a long time.  I noticed he had tears in his eyes, too. In that moment, I saw great compassion and realized that God must be like my dad.