A Boy’s Tears in the Rain

His brand new birthday gift.  Three-wheel, bright-red tricyle with streamers from the handle-grips.  Sat rusting outside in the November rain.  Where he left it; where he wasn’t supposed to.  His chin on the windowsill, he looked through the foggy pane of window glass.  Fog on the inside from pressing his nose against the window.  Cold drops of rain on the outside.  Spattering, streaming, obscuring his view.  Through the window.  Along with the fog of his breath.  Along with the tears in his eyes.  In his short life, he had never had anything “brand new”.  Hand-me-down clothes.  Not-quite-new shoes.  From cousins, the church, or Goodwill.  Daddy told him not to leave it outside.  The rain might come.  And, if it got rained on, it could get rusty and worn-out.  He wasn’t sure what “rusty” or “worn-out” meant.  He was afraid of finding out.  So he watched through the rain spattering on the window.  Watched, as he wiped the tears from his eyes.  Watched as he hoped.  And even prayed that God would keep his new trike from rusting away. Prayed that his Dad would  not take it away.  When he got home from work in 22 more minutes.  Would the rain stop by then?

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December 8, 2014

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