He couldn’t be missed with his giant purple pom pom hat.
Maybe he was 2 years old. Not more than 3. He was wrapped from head to toe in winter gear. He was so bundled he waddled as he walked.
The Metro station was crowded for a Sunday morning. The rush of people seemed to scoop him up into the flow. For a few steps his little pom pom hat bobbed in front of me. Falling into line to get onto the escalator he left my line of vision.
Surely his parents were somewhere close.
Turning my head to see if he was nearby, I felt a little warm hand in mine. Five tiny fingers were clutched to three of mine.
I searched for somebody’s eyes to give me a knowing nod that this little one had mistaken me for his Momma. The woman behind me caught my stare and reassured me with her smile and nodded back that he belonged to her.
In that moment of relief those little fingers holding onto mine were a powerful image.
How freely that little boy asked for help. Without worry or fear…with complete confidence that somebody would be there…he simply reached out his hand.
