Black Orchid – Neil Gaiman, art by Dave McKean, lettering by Todd Klein – 144 pages
“After being viciously murdered, Susan is reborn fully grown as the Black Orchid, a hybrid of plant and human, in order to avenge her own death. Now as this demigoddess attempts to reconcile her human memories and botanical origins, she must also untangle the webs of deception and secrets that led to her murder. Beginning in the cold streets of a heartless metropolis and ending in the lavish heartland of the thriving Amazon, this book takes the reader through a journey of secrets, suffering, and self-rediscovery.” –from DCComics.com/Vertigo
I picked up a Black Orchid comic quite some time ago because I love female crimefighters, and I find orchids to be both visually pleasing and symbolically appealing, so the combination seemed like the kind of thing I’d enjoy. When I discovered the Gaiman/McKean version of Black Orchid, I knew I’d hit paydirt.
Mr. Gaiman, anybody who reads this blog knows I’m a huge fan, but for some reason I’ve never gotten around to reading Sandman–so my experience of your writing in comics is limited to graphic novels or guest writing of single arcs in continuous series. I’ve liked all the graphia of yours that I’ve read, though, and this trade is no exception. Somehow you managed to write something that captures and keeps my attention, but is so dreamlike that I’ve forgotten what it was about almost as soon as I’ve finished reading it–I’m just left with this really pleasant sense that some kind of fascinating journey has occurred, and I got to go along for the ride. Maybe that doesn’t sound like a compliment, but it’s meant as one.
Part of the dreaminess, though, is the incredible art. Mr. McKean, I love your work no matter what style you’re using, but this gritty-yet-ethereal sort of photorealism works so well with the strange story, and you do such a lovely job making the orchids seem so alien without being frightening. The juxtaposition of color palettes, of gray city and red violence versus the orchids and verdant jungles and things…well, it was fantastic.
Also, I don’t know if the excellent placement and coloration of the text boxes and speech bubbles were part of the art or went with the lettering work, but either way, it was brilliant. Mr. Klein, never let it be said that I don’t appreciate excellent lettering–you make the whole thing readable, and yet it never looked out of place with the art style. Awesome.
Four enthusiastic stars for Black Orchid!
Love,
Wanna check out this title for yourself? Try the Indie Bound or ABC bookstore finders!
I am. She’s right there. She’s very beautiful. I’m not bragging. Ok, I am. I was reading (in my loo library) Guy Browning’s excellent Never Hit a Jellyfish with a Spade and he was pondering whatever happened to the love that dare not speak it’s name? We seem to live in an age where love will not keep it’s irritating mout shut. Its not just smug people who’ve found it either. I know how lucky I am to have what I have, I don’t need to be reminded by other people. Valentine’s day is symptomatic of this obsession with luurve. It’s basically a day set aside for couples to feel smug (and then pay a hefty fine in the way of meals and cards) and for single people to wallow (and then pay a hefty fine in the way of drinks and ice cream.) I think the whole exercise should be canned. If you’re in a relationship it’s impossible to be romantic on the day because they’re expecting it, and the greatest weapon of romance is suprise, and consideration, ok the two greatest weapons of romance are suprise and consideration….I’m not continuing with that, I have a point. So if your beloved is waiting for a Niagra Falls of rose petals and you can only provide a light showering, you’re stuffed. Even if it’s a power shower. Unless you can somehow find a pulse setting.
So there you have it, a bah humbug Valentine rant more than a month early. She really is beautiful though.
As a child, I always thought to myself that adults must have more things to do in their list of resolutions than a child like myself. This was because I normally saw loads of faults in the adult behaviour and way of life. It was kind of difficult to understand why contrary to my self hypothesis as a child, that they actually either had just a couple of mere things on the list or non at all. Asking them about it and being confronted with the afore said reality was one of the mysteries of adult-life that I was not empathizing with at all. I just could not get how they could start off a completely New Year with not even one single thing to change in their lifestyle or in their character.
However, now that I am an adult myself their attitude towards resolutions and list is hitting me hard. It is the first year that I would too have an empty list. It is just that I find nothing in my life or character that requires amending in any way. In fact, I am happy and quite thankful for the way I am as an adult and an individual in the society. In no regard, am I even by a millimeter hesitant about myself in the eyes of the rest of the world. So I am the perfect adult figure that we all try to become from child-hood!
As a consequence, of having touched both lands of childhood and adulthood I can draw a very hypothetical conclusion from both my experiences. Well as a child one sees a much more clearer picture of oneself, that is how a child improves and becomes better and better on a daily basis.
But, childhood is just like sand-papering the handles of the most extravagant and exquisite piece of wooden furniture. One uses the sand-paper on the handles till the perfect look and soft touch is achieved. Since adulthood is the result of this entire time consuming act of removing the unwanted rough patches on the furniture and the dust accumulated as a result of the procedure is the experience treasured then obviously its hard to see much fault. Unless the unfortunate furniture has a broken leg or a spillage of some sort on its beautifully tailored and comfortably cushioned material there is hardly a naive chance to realize its misplacement in the new dinning room which is now serving as its new community.
Only the wise do have a look at themselves from the eyes of an onlooker in comparison to the rest of the furnitures present. Judgment and self doubt turn out to become harder as we age while an immediate judgment of even a passer by is one of the simplest things in our adult lives.
Thus, no matter how perfect you are as an adult, do step back today and look at your life from a totally different angle and give yourself the gift in this New Year to reflect upon what you have done so far in your life as a person rather than just being a beautifully, decorated and well taken cared of piece of furniture.
Once in a while even furnitures need a bit of fixing and cleaning so do we as humans on Mother Earth! Hence, I shall make my list today too for probably there is loads of space for improvement in my personality as well!
Nobody talks, nobody moves, but for hands on pencils on papers.
Intimidating peace. Warm isolation, but cold company.
Me? I’m done. My miserable comrades still toil away at their pages and pages. What are we doing? Taking the SAT. Basically, trying to get into college. It’s near the end, and the last section in the test is the math, before the final test break. So I know that’s what everyone else around me is doing. Ha-ha, suckers. I’m done fast. I’m a speedy math test taker. Math is my best subject. It’s the subject about which I’m most proud.
I clink the clay slabs together in my pocket. My older brother, Farrah, who took this test five years ago, gave me these soon afterwards, when I turned 13. They seem to have given me luck on anything I’ve taken/accomplished so far. I’ve never questioned their power.
Father gave these to me at my barmitzvah. They were passed down to him from his father, who got it from his older brother, who got it from his father… And so on down the male line of Kusroviches. He instructed me not to decipher their meaning until the worst of youth is over, because before then I won’t understand what it means.
But now I understand their meaning. Now, I get it. Anaeb Marcel Kusrovich, it’s your turn. Do not decipher these until the worst of your own youth is over.
I remember seeing them once, twice, maybe even a few other times. I knew not to decipher it but I couldn’t help but think sometimes. The words were in Russian, yes, but their meaning so garbled and nonsensical that I just stopped trying.
When the worst of my youth is over. I’ll turn 18 in a few short weeks. My youth is coming to an end.
I could look at them and not tell my brother or my father…
A proctor zooms by my desk, whispering.
Is that a clacking noise coming from your pocket? I’d prefer that clacking be a little quieter, if not completely gone. Okay?
Her voice is soothing, and sweet, even in whisper form, and her request is highly ironic since her heels make a clicking sound as she scoots through the aisles of test-taking kids. She’s obviously a new teacher in this school because I’d never seen her, other than being my proctor, and almost none of The Hebrew Academy’s teachers have changed in the past 25 or so years, so the school says. Not to mention, she was speaking clear and fluid English, when most of the time you got yelled at if you spoke English. You were supposed to speak either Hebrew or Russian while in school, even though the big tests were in English.
She goes. Her heels click louder than my clay slabs, so I don’t know who the hell she thought she was kidding.
Waiting.
All I’m doing. Waiting.
My hands furtively fiddle with the clay in my pocket. The slabs are so old that I feel like I’m getting clay dust on my fingers.
Okay. The Mathematics section of the SAT is now completed. You may take a 5 minute test break in which you may talk or use the restrooms, but do not talk about the test.
Relief! I stand. My arms are raised above me, reaching towards the heavens that brought me power through my shards.
I sauntered over to my proctor.
May I open the clay shards I have in my pocket that were making the clacking noise from before? I asked in perfect Russian.
No, she replies, also in Russian. Then she switches to English. I know you wouldn’t, but for all any administrator walking around here knows, you could have written some helpful test material on the slabs. Maybe after the test?
Are you a new teacher here? I ask, puzzled. You aren’t supposed to speak English in this school…
She laughs.
I’m not a teacher here at all. I’m actually a college kid who just needed a weekend job, and they had a proctoring position here open, so here I am. I know Russian, but it’s really rusty so I figured it’d be easier for you if I spoke English.
This explains why she looks so young. There are no teachers in The Hebrew Academy who are younger than 40, right now.
You should meet my brother. He’s at the Community College around here. He loves teaching people new things, especially languages, I say.
You have an older brother at the Community College? Oh, I go there too! Her cry is incredulous. What’s his name?
Farrah. Farrah Kusrovich. You know him? I ask hopefully. I love meeting people who know Farrah. It’s always fun, because they all say I look exactly like him and have many of his mannerisms in common.
Farrah? For real? You’re Farrah’s younger brother? I was wondering why you looked so familiar! My God, I love that guy! Around campus, everyone knows Farrah. He’s silly, but he’s also the person on campus that you really don’t want to mess with because his vocabulary is enough to shoot down anybody. Not to mention, he’s sharp as a tack and witty, too. He doesn’t need a gun to protect himself, you know?
I nod, and I’m grinning. Everyone who knows Farrah loves him. He’s clever, and he’s hilarious, and he’s really got it all together. He might not be the sharpest tool in the shed, hence his going to community college, but he’s pretty awesome, his own SAT scores notwithstanding.
Oh, the time, the time! I better start the test again… She raps a hand on her desk until all is quiet, and turns away from me. Okay, it’s time for you to begin your tests again. Please sit down and turn to the next section of the test, the Reading.
Without another word, I sit down and open my test again.
Man. What’s Farrah going to say about this? I have to get her name.
~
Okay, guys! Please close your test booklets and put your pencils down. The SAT 2009 has been concluded! You may be released.
After a brief cheering period, my peers stand and leave, chattering hurriedly in Russian, some slipping in a few words of English. They’ll get it later…
The young proctor appears again by my desk.
Pull out those slabs of yours. I want to see them.
I hastily withdraw them from my pockets, clay dust clouding my hands, spotting my jacket, and ending up on the floor.
Farrah gave these to me at my barmitzvah. He told me not to decipher them until the worst of my youth is over, I explained.
Well, the SAT is a pretty damn big deal, she replies. Perhaps you could put them together now and see what happens.
The room is empty.
I go over to the teacher’s desk and put the slabs on the table. Everything on the desk is written in Spanish, so this must be a Spanish room.
Clink, clink, pic, pic.
Constantly rearranging the 5 slabs until they are in an order which makes sense.
The tablets themselves are pretty bland in color, clay-colored, but then again, their color must have worn off with the generations.
Read the Russian, she implores. I certainly can’t.
Frankly, neither can I. Of course, the text is faded away from all the generations of fingers creasing its surfaces.
I drop my head on the desk.
Never fear, never fear. Just get a piece of paper–here you go. Copy what you think you see so you can keep track of where you are.
It would be so helpful if she too knew how to read Russian.
Without another word I grab a pen and squint at the cyrillic script before me.
Man, and man.
Falling through, but rising up.
Thoughts are but words unspoken.
Feelings are but shouts unheard.
Knowledge comes from the soul and not from the ear.
Ah, oh holy love, the productive cooperation, the partnership and co-work.
What the hell…? I ask.
Having trouble reading? she says.
I ignore her and continue copying.
Put the pieces together.
Soul and worth, strength, oh holy love, are partners.
Stay by me, friend.
But stop me, too.
Keep me bound.
Set me free.
The missions of the eyes are the ambitions of the hands and feet.
Go, sons, brothers.
Go, for I have finished.
We have only just begun.
I put the pen down.
That’s it? she asks.
Yes, that’s it, I reply.
Read it to me, she says. I listen to her, and read.
These are all of the world’s little ironies put together on clay slabs, she says. What do you think? “Soul and worth, strength, oh holy love, are partners?” “The missions of the eyes”–hmm, goals you can see–”are the ambitions of the hands and feet…” But you normally associate ambition with the heart, or even the mind. Why the hands?
I stop.
What’s your name? I ask her.
Nataly. Nataly Colton, she says.
Thank you, Nataly, for everything. You’ve given me the keys to this puzzle. I understand the message my brother and my bloodline are trying to send me.
What does it say? she asks.
I ignore her and keep going.
I promise to pass this to my sons, too. In these tablets seem to be the key of wisdom for a man’s sight. But I am a man. I now have this sight and I can pass it on.
I’m going to go home now, Nataly. Nice meeting you, and I’ll tell Farrah when he comes home that I met you, and that you helped me decipher the slabs. Farewell. I collect my clay slabs, jumbling their order once again.
But, Anaeb… she calls after me. What did it say?
You heard the inscription, Nataly. Knowledge comes from the soul–here I wink–and not from the ear.
I turned around, put the clay back in my pockets, and through The Hebrew Academy’s ancient, now-empty hallways, I left.
Greetings! Thanks for visiting my blog. I decided to start this blog so I can share some erotic foot fetish stories I’ve written. I hope you like them! Here is the first:
Finally I was going to be able put my lips around those sweet toes. She’s been coming into my store weekly for a month now. Her perfect feet were the first thing that caught my eye. That’s probably because my eyes are drawn to the sound of anything that suggests a visible bare foot, and her light beige heeled sandals alerted me as they smacked her heels with alternating steps. These were a pair of feet to behold if there ever were one. Her petite, perfectly formed, perfectly pedicured feet were so delectable, any man, fetishist or not, would be happy to kiss them. As my eyes examined the rest of her I was not disappointed; gorgeous lightly tanned, smooth, fit legs were visible up to the knee, where her skirt forced my imagination to do the rest (for the moment). What a cute little tight bum! I drifted into a daydream where I was behind her, placing my hand on the inside of her thigh, running it up her cheeks, lightly stroking her spine on the small of her back, giving her goose bumps— my fantasy was interrupted as she turned around and I could see her face. She wasn’t supermodel hot, but as pretty as real girls come. She had dark blonde hair that hung down to her perky chest. Her nose and chin were slightly pointy, but not at all unappealing. Hell, with feet like hers, I didn’t much care what her face looked like. But she was blessed with heavenly feet to support the rest of her, which was also angelic. I couldn’t stop myself from stealing glances, trying to do so with my peripheral, but unable to keep myself from the pleasures of a direct stare, which I didn’t mind doing when she wasn’t facing me. I savoured every angle I could view them from. I still have the images in my head.
These staring sessions continued every time I was graced with her presence, to the detriment of my attention to other customers. Always the same sandals and same French pedicure. Same basic outfit, one skirt or another, with a light coloured short-sleeved shirt.
This time I decided I’d done enough looking. It was time to get her attention. It was early afternoon when she came in and there wasn’t another soul in the store. I asked her if I could help her find anything. Her eyes met mine and we shared a moment smiling at each other. She thanked me and said she was just looking. I made small talk about the events going on in town. There’d been a charity run recently and she said she had partaken. The route went right by the shop window. I wish I’d known and seen her. If only I could have enjoyed her naked sweaty body after she’d done the run — give her a full body massage to help her relax and finish her off with a body quivering orgasm to put her in a state of ecstasy… I missed out on that, but I’d have another chance.
“Do you like to do any other types of exercise?” I asked.
“Oh yeah. I love exercising. Especially hiking and swimming.” She answered. Excellent, I thought. I like hiking and swimming means beautiful bare feet. I asked her about the hiking, where she goes and so on. I could tell by the way she was looking at me and the way she was laughing at any lame thing I said that she was interested. We made plans to go hiking together, to show each other our favourite routes.
I wanted to have her experience something new and exciting so I took her to one of my favourite hikes first. It’s not well known and the lack of many hikers means you’re more likely to get a glimpse at some of the local fauna. As we hiked we flirted and got to know one another. She came wearing hiking boots, beige shorts and a white t-shirt. It was a fantastic day, but it was hot out. After two and a half hours of hiking we reached a summit with a great view where I decided we’d stop for lunch. When she sat down and took off her pack she commented on the heat and was pulling at the neck of her shirt for some airflow.
“Take off your boots, your feet will help let out the heat from the rest of your body.” I suggested.
“Yeah, my feet could use some air.” She agreed.
As I unpacked the food I had brought I was glancing occasionally over at her, watching her unlace her boots, take them off, and then remove her socks. What a sight. I couldn’t wait to get close and maybe get a little whiff of her sweaty feet. We sat together, ate and joked and her bare feet were there right in front of me on the grass. I couldn’t smell them but I certainly enjoyed looking. In the grass they looked especially beautiful. Her French pedicure was still visible, but it was obvious that it hadn’t been done for a few days. She started rubbing one of her feet while we were talking.
“Are you sore?” I asked.
“No not really. It just feels good and I want to avoid them hurting later.” She answered. I was even more turned on now.
“That makes sense. I’m told I’m pretty good with my hands. Would you like me to give you a little massage?” I asked, doing my best to hide my excitement.
“I’m not going to turn down a foot rub!” She said as she extended a beautiful foot to me. She lay down now as I kneeled before her. I took her foot in my hands and gently caressed it all over. Then I rotated her toes one at a time in little circles. I spent some time firmly rubbing her arches, followed by the ball of her foot, then her heel, then the points where her toes join her foot. She was smiling and clearly enjoying herself. “Mmmm, that feels so nice.” I smiled at her and said “Good”. As I started on the space between her ankle and her heel with my thumb and index finger, her face flushed “Wow. I can feel that in my knees and the pit of my stomach.” I knew she was feeling it elsewhere too. I brought her foot to my mouth and gently kissed the ball of her foot and she giggled. I got a faint smell of sweat. I wanted to run my tongue all over her foot right then, followed by other parts of her, but I thought I should build her up a bit more and at least give the other foot equal treatment.
I gave the other foot the same routine and she continued to smile and make little noises making her pleasure known. But this time, I held the kiss upon the ball of her foot a little longer. Then I kissed each toe. Then I took her big toe in my mouth and she gasped, a bit surprised, but she quickly gave in to the delight she was feeling. I could do anything I wanted with her now and I knew it. Her toes were so sexy and felt so good in my mouth. They were slightly salty. I sucked each toe, one at a time, running my tongue between them as I switched from one to the other. I noticed her hands moving around her crouch as I was doing this, but not quite touching her lady parts. I leaned forward and undid the buttons of her shorts. “Don’t be shy.” I said and took one of her hands and put a couple of fingers in my mouth to lube them for her. She took the cue and put her hand down her light pink panties as I continued to work her feet. I could hear as her fingers worked inside her wet pussy. The sloshing sound was music to my ears. I was fully hard now. I licked her feet like an animal, running my tongue from heel to toes and rubbing her feet on my face, placing random kisses.
I put her legs straight up in the air and removed her shorts. As I did this, she took off her top and bra. Rock hard nipples greeted me, both pierced with barbells. I knelt at her side, putting one hand to work on her wet slit and the other fondling her breast while our tongues wrestled. She was rubbing my dick through my shorts. It wasn’t long before she took out my cock and started sucking me. I kept fingering her pussy and I pulled up a foot to enjoy while her mouth was busy engulfing my cock. Her mouth was so hot and it seemed like she appreciated sucking my cock like I appreciated sucking her toes. I had to get inside her. I took off the rest of my clothes while she played with herself. She could reach her nipples to her mouth and seemed to enjoy sucking them quite hard as she diddled her clit. I gave her pussy some tongue work before the sex. My tongue moved easily into her sopping wet hole and she pushed my head towards her and bucked her hips, wanting my tongue deep inside her. I teasingly pulled her labia with my lips and ran my tongue up them to her clit. She was in ecstasy. I could tell she was close. I gave her clit a brief kiss and then slid my penis into her hot pussy. It went in so easily and felt so good. Everything felt perfect. We kissed as we made love.
“Kiss my feet.” She whispered to me. I knelt in front of her, staying close enough to remain inside her. She put her feet in front of my face and I put my mouth and tongue to work as he humped each other vigorously. I gently bit her big toe before sucking on it, still thrusting away. As my tongue ran across her toes her breathing quickened and moans got louder. Her excitement was too much. I was going to cum and I was hoping she would to. I started moaning louder to let her know, and she did the same. I came hard and she did too. I kissed her arches, then her lips and her neck. We lay together and caught our breath, both feeling amazing.
We were sweaty and glowing for the rest of our hike. The fun continued afterwards when we went back to her place. And we enjoyed many hikes together after that.
The annual celebration of lights was set at 7pm in downtown Phoenix. Our Saturday night meeting let out at seven but a group of us decided to run up to the 7th and Indian School to catch the end of the Parade. Along with our four women, the little girls exited about a parade, were three children; Jacob, Skyler and Jacob’s little sister.
All packed up and ready to roll I was captivated by Skyler’s mom, Kathy. She spoke to her daughter about the greatest word; Love.
”What’s the greatest word Sky baby? Love! Can you say love?” Skyler wasn’t in a speaking mood due to new people in the environment but I got the impression that this conversation was had regularly.
We set down the road two cars and five adults and three children with high spirits. The 202 dropped into the ten, we opted for the 51 that dropped us two miles from our destination. Parked about a mile down from Indian School we set out stroller in tow towards crowd gathered. I stopped at a local coffee shop for some hot chocolate for me and Jacob. The rest of the party continued up near the Jack in the Box.
The people were lined up the street, bunched at the four corners and standing on trucks in the gas station parking lot. Vendor walked up and down selling their parade wares. Neon ropes for a dollar were the most popular. Pam purchased two bubble guns that not only spit out streams of bubble bullets but also lit up in a myriad of colors.
I headed into Jack in the Box to bring out some dollar burgers hoping the line was moving quickly. Jacob’s mom was standing in the bathroom line, ironically it ran through the restaurant and blocked the cash registers. That line was only two people deep. I returned out front burgers and curly fries in tow. Pam and Jacob had settled at a nearby table with his little sister. His mom was now at the ten minute mark for the bathroom.
It was a cold evening as people were dressed in their Arizona winter wear. One man shared our table drinking two tall cans of Bud light. An old friend that used to stay with my ex showed up. After initial hello’s she launched into a list of complaints and accomplishments.
I have a girlfriend. I want to strangle her kids. We live together. I did my jail time. I have a job. Oh and How are you?
Thus furthering my belief that lesbians initially only have one thing in common; other women. That is a whole other subject for a blog. Hell it could even be its own page.
Jacob’s mom appeared retrieving her infant daughter and preparing the children to move to parade watching spot. Jacob wasn’t interested in waiting as the floats were coming ever closer. I watched him walk into the crowd near the street. I decided to follow, thinking at least he wouldn’t get lost.
Kids have amazing navigation skills. In less that a minute he was at the front just in time to catch the first float; a big rig carrying Santa’s Sleigh.
Rooted to the spot, one hand clutching the bubble gun and the other holding both a half-eaten hamburger and now cold, hot chocolate, Jacob stared in wonder. The half-dozen kids to the left and right of him mirrored his same look of awe.
In ten minutes I received a phone call asking if I had Jacob with me and where were we. Could I bring him to where they were standing. Naturally the wonder of cellphones are overlooked except in these moments. Jacob on the other hand refused to move. He had the spot, the parade was going and he was determined not to miss it. Clearly only a mother’s touch and word would get this kid to break from the never ending stream of lights, baton twirlers and clown procession.
Right now, as you are reading this one of two things is running through your mind. If you are a parent its, “Who is the adult here, pick the kid up and move him to the rest of the group.” If you are open to the awareness of allowing children to think for themselves without forcing them to conform to your idea of right its, “Nice job, the kid knows a good spot.”
Logically I understood his mother’s request. At the same time I understood Jacob’s request which originated from his soul. Often as adults we make choices from our minds using logic, intuition, and emotion. Only children possess the courage to lead with their heart. Such a remembrance we all need, especially at this time in our lives.
A marching band paraded past with a hip drum line. The next float was a Humvee, it rolled past slowly, carrying none other than the Sheriff of Maricopa County, Joe Arpaio.
I had personal interest in Sheriff Joe, having followed the New Times paper’s story; “Are your Papers in order?” The front cover depicted a blue-eyed white male in all black, including a ski mask pointing a nine millimeter Glock. I found it equally interesting that Sheriff Joe chose to ride on a military issue Humvee which looked more like a tank. The crowd began its jeers, boos, and taunts while the Sheriff sat atop his military vehicle waving. I was contemplating the symbolism of his float and the obvious military justice he dispensed in the town of Guadalupe.
My thoughts were interrupted by Jacob’s question, which crested above the boos and straight into my heart.
“Why are they booing him? Who is he?” He looked at me with a complete innocence. This was a moment that I would call a God Shot. As adults, parents, guardians and the like we have a responsibility to answer questions the young pose. Even more pressing is how we answer them. Do we superimpose our own ideals and beliefs? Or do we encourage them to make their own decisions based on facts?
Growing up I was given this opportunity except on certain issues. Those of race-mixing, prejudice, government, homosexuality and religion often carried with them a ‘its this way because I said so’ teaching. Then reinforced by the fear of ridicule or interrogation if I did happen to disagree.
I leaned down to Jacob’s level and said. “That is Joe Arpaio, the Sheriff of Maricopa County. People are booing him because they don’t like his immigration platform.” confident I had relayed facts and not my own personal belief I stood back up and watched Joe’s Humvee rolling past. Jacob looked back at me as the rear wheels faded from his view and asked, “What does that mean?” I smiled realizing that I had spoken in way that he didn’t understand. I leaned forward again, “He treats people of a different color differently.” again the facts and nonjudgmental. I stood back allowing Jacob to make up his own mind about the issue. A minute later he asked me a curious question.
”Is that really him or someone else?” the question shocked me that I answered immediately. “Its really Joe.” I was wondering what would make him ask such a question when Jacob said to me, “I would have booed him too.”
Out of the mouth of babes, and a child shall lead them. There are many sayings relating to the innocence of children. I find that the word ‘innocence’ is misleading. Implying a need for protecting. Children really possess the quality we look for in leaders, friends, family and lovers. They possess the courage to speak the truth.
