Safe Travels Little Ones

We are eating lunch in a health food restaurant.

We are planning out the rest of our day, enjoying the cool weather and the gorgeous rain. He's sitting across from me with his Oregon weather clothing. My previously natty husband now prefers Carhartt shirts (layered for warmth), thick denim pants and boots. Not the fancy expensive boots of his past though. Portland boots. The ones that keep your tootsies dry.

We talked of love and friendship, weather, guests, family and holidays.

As we sat in the intimate little corner, next to two giant windows, a preschool class walked by. Three and 4 year olds in their rain gear, boots and knit hats all holding on to the rope that began and ended with a teacher. Boy Scout says to me with a big smile, "Look at them".  I look over and noticed the little group of 8 or 9 tots. He adores children and they return the gift ten-fold. Not being quite as enamored with them as he is, I  quickly turned back to see his face tighten and turn slightly pink. I ask him if everything is ok. His eyes squeeze shut and he tries hard to quell the big emotions he is feeling and finally says, "I just don't want one of those kids to go home and be hurt by their parents. I want them to be happy and feel safe."

My man, my sweet, kind, loving man, was repeatedly hurt by someone who should have cared for and nurtured him. He wishes he knew why. He used to think he deserved it; that he was bad. But now he knows that he did not, nor does any child, deserve to have someone's anger taken out on their little bodies.