The Blue Scarf

There he stood - all of 7 years old - his forehead scrunched up over his brimming eyes, bravely fighting off the quiver that threatened to overtake his bottom lip. Silently, from his spot at the table, he watched the other happy children with their new toys. He tried to remember why he had so desperately looked forward to this party. Vaguely remembering impatiently hopping from one foot to the next, tugging on his mummy´s jacket sleeve because she couldnt seem to get out the door fast enough. Clutching his contribution to the present pile, breathlessly impatient, eager to see what his present at the kids bingo game would be...

He scrunched up the piece of cheap, shiney blue cloth in his left hand, crumpling it up into a ball, as if he wished it would dissapear. His brimming, blue eyes looked over his circle framed glasses. A scarf. A shiny, silver theraded blue scarf. All that excitement shattered in one revealing moment. Discarded gift paper covering the room, and everyone so, happily oblivious...

I watched as the boy as he silently fought back the tears, roughly throwing the beautiful dark blue scarf across the table, as if trying to compensate the crippling disappointment with feigned nonchalance. I hurt for him, I did. The sad, puppy dog eyes scanning the crowd of kids, hoping, maybe to find someone who would actually appreciate the shiny blue scarf, maybe hoping someone would trade. I remembered so clearly the stinging pain of dissapointment... the blinding tears that threatened to blind my eyes, the parents failed attempts at comfort and reasoning, all the while fighting the dead, dull pain in the center of my chest. Dissapointment. No child should ever suffer through it. 

I wanted to take him in my arms and hold him, I wanted to take away that suddenly hideous scarf and give him the world. I wanted him to be happy. His mother took his hand, as he fumbled into his little, down jacket, the pinched up face never changing, the hideous, hideous scarf again clutched in his hand. His shoulders slumped in defeat as they passed me by and left the school. Just another child, just another moment of life. Another sad, dissapointing moment. 

How I wish I could have done something. And more than anything, how I wish I were a child again, with a toy of my own to give him, to somehow make him forget about that hideous, horribly beautiful, shiny blue scarf.