I went to Target to get disposable dishes to replace the real ones in storage. While staring blankly at a food display, I saw a little boy walking. His father mindlessly stepped on his foot. The boy stopped walking after his dad, put the injured foot on top of the other, and cried out in pain. His father didn’t notice and kept walking. Children’s words are high-pitched and not clearly articulated, so it takes a trained ear to decipher them. Mesmerized, I got every word. “My foot hurts! You stepped on my foot,” the boy wailed. His dad didn’t apologize but instead started pulling him forward to the registers while he cried.
Staring at the scene, my uncharitable thought was, “Why does this man deserve his child and I don’t?” My mind flooded with all the people I’d seen behave cruel or thoughtless toward their children. Quickly, I went to my car focused on one clear goal: getting home so I could break down and cry.
When Constance was alive, I enjoyed taking her shopping with me. She would pick her favorite things to put in the cart and I would always buy them for her. She would giggle with joy at Target. They sold us the classic Lays potato chips she liked, the frozen cheese pizza she loved, and the Gala organic apples she craved so strongly, she would become anxious with even the slightest delay in eating them.