Heart Talks

I was too tired to go into the store on our way home Sunday evening.

“I’ll just sit in the car and rest,” I sighed and let the hubby run in to pick up a few last minute things needed for the workweek.

Moments later an older model car that had seen better days rolled in to a nearby parking spot. There was an empty space between our vehicles allowing me total observation. So, I did what I do best. I watched.

The driver got out and went directly to the trunk. The passenger hopped out on his side – he looked to be about eleven.

“Mama,” he said, “do you need my help?”

She opened the trunk, pulled out a baby stroller, and began the process of unfolding it.

“No, I’ve got it,” she replied and inclined her head briefly towards the back seat.

Acknowledging her gesture, he opened the back door. From there he reached in and carefully unbuckled the restraints on an infant car seat and lifted out a little bundle in pink.

“Hi sweet baby,” he whispered just loud enough for the words to drift through my open window.

She was six or seven months old. He held her very carefully and patted her gently on the back while he scanned the back seat for something.

“Aww, there it is!” he playfully intoned and then kissed her briefly on the cheek. I felt a smile creeping up to my droopy eyes at his unabashed display of affection.

Next, he pulled a soft blanket out of the car.

By this time, the mother had positioned the stroller and was placing a few things into the large pocket behind the seat.

The boy painstakingly sat the baby into the carriage and clasped the buckle.

After gently tucking the pink blanket in around her, he added, “There you go Angel.”

Once the task was complete, his mom pivoted the stroller and began pushing it towards the crosswalk.

“Mama,” he called after her, “Did you want to lock the car?”

“Yes,” she nodded her head and continued on her way.

He hurried to the passenger door and opened it. I heard the lock click.

“Espera!” he called and skipped happily after her.

Now I will tell you the rest of the story.

I eavesdropped on an entire conversation in Spanish and recognized only that last word. (No hablo español.) However, as I watched this little boy showing respect for his mother and devotion to his little sister, I didn’t need an interpreter.

His actions touched me, and my heart understood.