I made a quick trip to the supermarket for some fill-in ingredients that my wife needed for some baking she planned for after dinner. I jotted down a short list, hopped in the car and I was off. Minutes later, I found a parking space. I locked the car, grabbed a cart and headed inside, determined to make it fast, efficient and home in time for Jeopardy!
I knew exactly where I was going, plotting the layout of the store in my head for optimum shopping results. With my eyes locked on a far aisle, I deliberately guided my cart towards the flour and chocolate chips. As I turned the corner, off the main front aisle into the "baking" aisle, I was greeted by an unexpected scene that threw off my single-minded procedure.
There was a group of people, probably an extended family of some sort, as the members exhibited a wide range of ages. Attention, however, was commanded by a young man who was crying. His eyes were red and puffy. His cheeks were wet and streaked with the remnants of recently-fallen tears. He was audibly sobbing, long mournful sobs that interrupted his normal breathing pattern.
And, at approximately 12 years old, he was way too old to be crying.
The family scanned the shelves and placed items in their cart, ignoring the boy, despite his anguished tones and weeping eyes. As I slowly made my way up the aisle, I surmised from bits of overheard conversation that something had happened in the store. Something distressing and sad. Something that was troubling. Something that hurt. In spite of his pleas and the waterworks turned on full blast, the family was only interested in finishing their marketing. It was genuinely heartbreaking. I could still hear his soft wailing from several aisles away.
I gathered the few remaining items on my list. I paid for my purchases and soon I was homeward bound.
I gathered the few remaining items on my list. I paid for my purchases and soon I was homeward bound.
I hate to see crying children. I hate to see crying children being ignored by their parents. Conversely, I hate to see parents ignoring a child in need.
Maybe some of Mrs. P's baked goods would cheer me up. They usually do.
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