S h e l d o n ' s S o n g

Sheldon's Song

These big, gypsy eyes, they cry.
They cry with sadness, they cry with hate, they cry for the way things should be
and are not.  But they are not helpless.
They are not without the power to change or to move.
I want to tell the world that I'll do anything I have to do  to do what I have to do.
There are no opportunities come and gone and wasted.

I want to tell that small boy, the only third grader that can get his hair quite that
shade of blue, that life is not fair.  Life is a pot full of snakes and mud, but it lies
beneath a rose bush.
We see the thorns, bleed by them, but there are roses.
Yes, there are.
And every so often a red-velvet petal falls from the sky.
Climb under it, child, like that soft velvet blanket, my favorite blanket as a child.
Climb under and rub that softness on your face.  It will wipe your tears and take your
snot and still it is soft on your cheeks and between your toes.
And these big gypsy eyes which are telling him this will agree -- he will see in them
that this is true.

One day, when I have rescued him from the drug house that is his home -- he will be
tucked in like a real angel-boy-child
(the one that he is)
and I will read him stories and look at the picture of my father next to the bed.
I will tell him all of this: my father was the best and he had to leave; his is the worst
and we can't get rid of him.
These gypsy eyes will tell him that this is true; this is the way it has to be,
but, dear child, curl up in this blanket, and I will too -- and together --  
we will teach each other how to read and how to trust the world which takes and
gives too much.
And under the blanket we will be with God -- when I rescue him from the swearing
hate of his father's voice and his father's insults -- if only for one night.

My dad taught me these things: compassion, love, the rescuing of a child who needs
more that they have, but really you just love them, and it is joyful
that you can help at all.
The love in a child's eyes is brighter than a thousand diamonds in the sun.
To play -- play like a child in the evenings, mornings, afternoons,
Everytime and Always --
that is the bread, the expensive champagne and fast red sports car of life.
That is why you leave work to do the real job and the Real Job is where the sun,
stars, indeed the universe and God lies.

So these big gypsy eyes, they cry.  They cry lots these days and those salty tears
(I still lick them as they slide down my cheeks, like a child gurgling salt water for a
sore throat)
they come spilling over the sides
they come pouring over the mountainsides of love.
Brimming with wishes and dreams, but they do not end there.
Down my throat, off my chin, down the  mountain slope -- into the ocean of Now
and Forever.

I am not frozen-stuck-shut with grief and anger.
My dam is breaking, and be you afraid of love, well then,
take to your feet and run
or else be drowned by it.
Take to the sky and fly but only there will you find
the maker of all things and he send you back down to drown in the flood of Love.
Look upon the sweet faced innocent boy who cannot spell his name but knows more
about drugs and the addiction that follows than you or I ever will.
Look at him, as I did.
Let us drink his tears.
I am used to the taste, and it is good.

Drink them down and pour him into the river of Love flowing into the ocean of God.
My dad taught me these things.
He is in the ocean of God and directs my tears there.
I follow them, I run, with my gypsy eyes taking in the sights along the way.
Taking in the boy whose puffy, sagging eyes match my own.
He follows as much as is allowed and I am thankful. I give him small bits of candy.
It is all I am allowed, but I am not helpless.  I am not without power.
I am not alone.