Raising My Sights My six

Raising My Sights

My six-year-old granddaughter, Caitlynd, and I stopped at a Tim Horton's
donut shop for a blueberry muffin. As we were going out the door, a young
teenage boy was coming in.

This young man had no hair on the sides of his head and tuft of blue spiked
hair on top of it. One of his nostrils was pierced, and attached to the hoop
that ran through the hole, was a chain that draped across his face and
attached to a ring he was wearing in his ear. He held a skateboard under one
arm and a basketball under the other.

Caitlynd, who was walking ahead of me, stopped in her tracks when she saw
the teen. I thought he'd scared the dickens out of her and she'd frozen on
the spot.

I was wrong.

My GrandAngel backed up against the door and opened it as wide as it would
go. Now I was face to face with the young man. I stepped aside and let him
pass. His gracious response was a kind, "Thank you very much".

On our way to the car, I commended Caitlynd for her manners in holding open
the door for the young man. She didn't seem to be troubled by his appearance
but I wanted to make sure. If a grandmotherly talk about freedom of self
expression and allowing people their differences was in order, I wanted to
be ready.

As it turned out, the person who needed the talk was me.

The only thing Caitlynd noticed about the teen, was the fact that his arms
were full. "He woulda' had a hard time to open the door."

I saw the partially shaved head, the tuft of spiked hair, the piercings and
the chain. She saw a person carrying something under each arm and heading
toward a door.

In the future, I hope to get down on her level and raise my sights.

© Terri McPherson
tmcphers@mnsi.net
Windsor, Ontario, Canada

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