A Portrait of Dessie
I know a famous grandmother - not famous as the world measures fame - but famous nonetheless. She was, or is, in my opinion, an outstanding expert in child psychology. Would to God that some of our modern specialists could tap into her special well of knowledge - born of love and filled with years of devotion.
She is a unique person - thank God I had the privilege to become a part of her family. If every child in the world could be nurtured by such a person - be they boy or girl - juvenile delinquency would cease to exist and peace would be restored to an unpeaceful world.
Oh, I can hear your exclamations of disbelief - but if you do not believe it is only because you do not understand, and she, of all people, would forgive you for that.
Do you know the desolation of tears? So does she. She has buried a husband, a son, and a grandchild. Do you know the laughter of participation in anothers' happiness? I hope so - but she certainly did. Do you understand the need of a neighbor with no one to turn to? She did, and never refused to reach out that helping hand.
And most of all, do you understand the responsibility the trust of a child places upon you? If you do, please accept that responsibility and teach and love the child. If not please listen and learn how to do these things from this portrait of Dessie.
It has been said that youth, like love, is wasted on the young. Perhaps, if one considers love as the blossoming of interest in the other sex. But more accurately, love can never be wasted on the young. Love is the young. Children are born into this world awaiting the embrace of a mother. What they receive is a shake and a slap from a doctor. What a traumatic beginning.
But the human spirit is unconquerable and those small beings, barely able to see, start their tortuous journey to adulthood. What should be a beautiful experience in human development can and does, all too often, become a frightening experience in human cruelty.
Except - if one is fortunate enough to have a Dessie in his or her life. Then, how wonderful it can become.
I know "children" in her house who are now parents, who cannot remember ever visiting her without looking for a cookie from the little sailor cookie jar that has been full of cookies for busy fingers for over fifty years.
Do you know what to do with a crying child? Telling it to hush is not the answer. We all must shed our tears and with them wash away the injury and the pain of remembrance. But when is enough, enough? Dessie knew. When any child came to her - hurt physically or psychologically - she drew the child to her, and speaking softly, smoothing the mussed hair, told that child that he (or she) could cry until her apron pockey was full of tears. The child could cry with complete relief. Dessie knew, as all who love children know, when the tears had healed the wound. Then, and only then, was the pocket full. Confronted with this fact, the children gazing at the pocket, and not able to see the tears within it, believed nevertheless, that it was full of tears, as indeed it was. The small faces were wiped clean and the little ones, armed with an invisible and impenetrable shield of love, returned to the world of objects and animals that sometimes could, and often did, hurt them. But what mattered a small hurt? They knew where comfort lay. Armed with such love and wisdom, they grew strong and confident.
Those of you who have grandchildren of your own, look around for some poor little forlorn tyke. All they need is a hug and a smile - that's the true human environment that nurtures every living thing - tender loving care.
Stretch out your hand, like Dessie, to a child that needs you. If enough of us do that, this world of thorns with scarcely a rose will become a world of roses with scarcely a thorn.
