Waiting Room

I was in the waiting room at the dentist's office when a man walked in with two boys who looked to be around 9 and 6 years old. I stood at the counter as the receptionist, between sneezing fits, slowly checked her computer to set up another appointment for me.

The man and the boys sat down but the younger one wasn't seated for long. With a sudden movement that caught my attention, he propelled himself out of his chair and executed a perfect cartwheel in the middle of the waiting room floor.

"Wow!" I exclaimed, genuinely impressed. The boy smiled, lowered his gaze shyly and stole back to his chair. However, in a moment he was back on stage, this time rolling from a neat somersault into a handstand which he held for 30 seconds.

When I said "Very good!" he removed his hands from the floor, balancing momentarily on his head alone. This time when he stood up, he looked at me directly and grinned like a champ. I felt a bond between us. Perhaps something links a spectator who wants to be entertained and a performer who desires admiration.

Other than myself, the man and the boys, the waiting room was empty. The man, who I suppose was the boy's father, had his eyes fixed on the TV and appeared to be ignoring his son.

At the time I thought the boy was performing for me alone and I felt privileged to be the one he was performing for. Now I realize that his father was part of his intended audience. I think that is always the case with children, even if they know their parents aren't watching. They will continue to perform with heartbreaking faith and hope...for a while.

That's what I wanted to tell the man. Do not miss this opportunity. Because he is doing it for you, the show your little boy is putting on is a million times better than that Spanish soccer game on TV. In ten years, which will go by quicker than you could believe, he might tune you out like you're tuning him out now and your questions--how was school, where are you going, how are you doing--will go unanswered.

Maybe the man had a terrible toothache and could not be attentive because of his pain. Maybe circumstances beyond his control were making him depressed or discouraged. Maybe he watches his son do gymnastics ten hours a day and is tired of it. I do not want to assume or misjudge.

As I watched the scene, what I wanted was to love and affirm the boy. I wanted a device like the memory eraser in Men in Black, that I could beam at the man, his boys and the receptionist which would convince them for a few minutes that I was a safe person. When they were sufficiently beamed I would get on my knees, look the boy in the eyes, say "You are wonderful" and hug him.

Back on the floor, the little performer rocketed into a handstand and spun on his head a la break dancing. Far from wondering what was taking the receptionist so long, or what on earth she could be doing in the back room, I was absorbed in watching the boy and was sorry when the receptionist handed me the card with my appointment date and said "Have a nice day."

In the car on the way home I heard "The Little Drummer Boy". The thought of the drummer boy giving Jesus the only thing he had, his talent, made me think of the boy in the waiting room.

I can imagine him there in that familiar scene, his beautiful imp face and buzz cut hair, his missing-teeth smile lighting the place up. Gold softly gleaming, the scent of frankincense mingling with the odor of animals, manure and hay. The little boy dropping to his hands, springing up smoothly and twirling on his head. Jesus' milky black infant eyes focusing for the first time on someone other than His mother.

Was His consciousness like that of any other human baby, or did He always have the mind of God? This is something I've often wondered about the Incarnation.

If, as a baby, Jesus had seen the little gymnast from the waiting room, I wonder if the boy would have danced before His eyes as a mere motion, distracting like a baby rattle but no more than that. Or would He have looked with awareness at the boy and thought, "You are wonderful. I love you. You are why I am here."