Carson, Case, and Ty

Two of the three boys that I spend most of my time looking after in Children's Ministry wound up in the church office yesterday with medical teams hovering around them.

It has occured to me, by the way, that I seldom mention girls in my comments on the kids. There are two reasons for this: A) in our class the ratio of boys to girls is 3 to 1, and B) the girls that we do have are for the most part incredibly well-behaved. This means that I, who have somehow or other become the person on the spot to comfort inconsolables, prevent prison-breaks, and pull apart antagonists, am seldom needed to care for the female contingent of our little class.

I resume. There are three little miscreants (of course you must know that I worship the ground they walk on) who between them demand most of my attention.

They are quite different from one another. Carson, all things considered, is the mildest of the three. He has thick hair like a cap of solid gold and big, slightly tilted green eyes. They remind me of two goldfish sunning themselves just below the surface of a garden pool. For the rest he looks elfin, like Galadriel's elves, all warm amber. Carson is the one who wanders over and sits down in my lap for no good reason, as if completely on a whim, and likes to be held. He plays nicely with the other children, keeps himself to himself, and I would think his smile perfectly charming if I did not have Case's to compare it with. His parents have taught him to blow kisses to all of us when they come to take him away. It's not something I would quite want my child to do (exactly why that is I do not know), but I admit he does it very well.

At any rate, yesterday Carson was the most serious medical case. He threw up in the middle of the first half-hour, and they called part of the medical team out of the meeting to check up on him. His parents were also called. Gentle reader, I hope that you have never had to kneel beside a cot on which a child whom you love is lying very still and very pale, with a terrible glaze over his eyes and limpness in all his small body. I hope you never kneel there, stroking an unresponsive hand, and look up to see the frightened faces of his parents. His forehead was hot when I touched it. The doctor did not seem worried---I knew there was no real cause for alarm. Just a little stomach bug or something. But when it is a child suffering, any illness is magnified a thousandfold in the mind. I withdrew myself after giving all the details I could, and returned to the classroom rather sober.

Case, a direct contrast to Carson in coloring and temper both, was in one of his moods. He is a creature of moods altogether, willfull and sparkling by turns, with sometimes a sadness over him so pitiful that it makes you want to cry. He sobbed harder than usual against my shoulder when his father left him, but soon there were smiles and little exploding stars of mischief in his blue, blue, awe-strikingly blue eyes.

I am not overly fond of blue eyes in others because I have them myself and therefore like a little variety from what I see in the mirror every day. But Case's eyes would arrest attention anywhere. They are the clear blue of a spring morning, and at the same time somehow the delicate, almost melancholy blue of October twilight. Fringed round with dark lashes, I believe it is their mysteriousness that ultimately makes Case's eyes so unforgettable. I can never tell exactly what he is thinking, which in a two-year-old is remarkable. His eyes say everything, all at once, and I cannot sort out one message from another before it is gone.

Aside from these eyes, Case has unusually pale skin and very dark, fine, straight hair, curling only slightly at the tips. He looks like the other kind of elf, the Rivendell child. If Carson makes me think of golden wheat and harvest-time, Case makes me thing of the heavens and places where stars are born, as I was reading of in a book on the cosmos the other day. He also has Peter Pan's own reckless, graceful, athletic way with him, which is how he got into trouble yesterday.

We were playing. I was sitting on the floor in front of the doorway with my legs stretched out before me, ankles crossed. It it my usual guard post because I can survey the room from it, watch out for any potential injuries or squabbles, and be on ground-level for any child that comes wandering up. Well, in this instance, Case didn't "wander" up at all. He took up a position half-way across the room, then put his little head down and pelted at me and threw himself bodily into my lap.

"Good grief!" I said, astonished. He grinned at me, sparkling and shimmering like anything. Then he went back and did it again. This time, prepared, I caught him. I saw that he was used to playing this game (as his mother confirmed to me later), so I let him draw back for a third run. At that moment a worker from the next room over poked her head in to ask me if we had any... I forget what it was. Anyway, at the same moment Case took his third run, misjudged the distance, and slammed his whole chest into my leg.

"Oh, sweetheart," I sighed. He had knocked the wind out of his chest, poor darling, and sat there trying to breathe and cry at the same time. I hated to see the look of surprise and pain darken his beautiful eyes. I gathered him up. "Oh, sweetheart. Why did you do that to yourself?"

Why do we do things to ourselves? Why?

He was soon all right again, and forgot his hard knock. I didn't, however, and as he continued to bounce off the walls all morning, I wasn't exactly surprised when I found myself just barely too late to prevent a nose-dive. I picked him up firmly. "Beloved, you have got to stop hurting yourself."

"Better take him along to the office," said my room leader. "It's policy to have them looked at whenever they hit their heads."

So for the second time that day I took my child to the office, and waited for the medical team and the worried parents, and thought about pain and fragility, this time the self-caused sort. After a little while I went back to our classroom. Ty greeted me at the gate.

Ty is only half Asian, but he inherited dark hair (shaved close to his head) and large, brilliant black eyes. He is probably the most intelligent child in the class, and also the most dangerous. If there is any trouble to be gotten into, any poisonous or dangerous substance to be tasted, any socket to poke one's finger inside, any wall partition to squeeze behind, Ty will do it. He is also passionately fond of bubbles and crackers, will scream your ear off when he has a mind to---and when he laughs up at you it seems as though he pulled all the merriment in the world into those lustrous eyes of his. Yesterday Ty was my saving grace; for once he did not get into any trouble worse than trying to climb into one of the toy chests.

Sometimes I wonder what my boys will grow up to be. Case will be instinctively loved wherever he goes; he is one of those boys who breaks the hearts of young girls merely by being his own shining self. At the same time he knows, young as he is, the power of his own charm. I pray he will learn as he grows older not to abuse it. I do not love him for his inconstancy and fickleness, but I do love him for his bright courage and winsome depths. He may be a leader among men when he grows up---or if not that, he may have the gift of seeing into people's souls and saying strength into their hopes, comfort into their fears, rebuke into their sin. His father is a pastor-in-training and his mother is a gentle lady. I hope and trust that they will be proud of him.

Carson? He likes to be alone much of the time. He is also a practical little fellow and has a frank, friendly way. Carson is steady and sweet where Case is changeable and full of maddening intrigue. Carson has no secrets, but he also has few interests and no ambition. I hope he will be what his parents seem to me---loving, good-tempered, sensitive, and kind. He could do far worse.

And Ty! Oh my sainted aunt and all her little lace caps! Ty will conquer the world and then, not satisfied with that, he'll conquer the stars. Or if he is exceptionally lazy he will simply become the next Bill Gates. I only wonder whether there is a great heart, as well as great delight and great intelligence, behind those great dark eyes of his...? For if Ty has a fault, it is that he shares with Case in a trait that I could almost call heartlessness. Neither of them seem to know, as Carson certainly does, what it is to want somebody to love you.

Those are my three boys, as different as any three little boys in the world. And I have lost my heart---one of my hearts, for I begin to wonder how many I have to lose---to them.