Frankly Told: I Named Sadness
The park was bursting with energy. Children running about helter-skelter with no mind to the world’s problems. Playing tag or this, that and the other, all in different clusters.
The adults hurdled around the picnic tables. An occasional beer in hand fueled the loud conversations that seemed to interweave into each other and allowed current affairs to merge with a series of different topics. On the playground, a great game of football was going down amongst majority of the the boys.
His eyes scanned the crowd with a sense of contentment that the plans had finally come to fruition. A smile so willfully spread across his lips and the man standing beside him at the grill caught the radiance and nodded subtly, raising the beer he held in his hand.
“We needed this,” he said.
“Seems so,” the man responded. “I don’t think I have felt this much energy around me in a long while. I can’t fail to say how glad I am to finally do this again.”
They chuckled shortly and then averted their gaze onto the ferocious match going down not so far from them. The boys were getting into it. An argument about a goal, that seemed to have a disparity and they could not agree whether it was in or it went over the goal-post, made up of two empty plastic two-litre soda bottles. The self-appointed referee was the focus on the whole issue with well over a dozen boys all up in her face and she looked overwhelmed.
His eyes moved from boy to boy until they landed on his boy, sitting at the swings rocking back and forth in a world of his own. Even from a distance, he could read the sadness on the little boy’s face. He pursed his lips and turned to the man who was building into a peal of laughter at the reaction of his wife to the passion the little boys had for sports. As only a husband would, he had placed his beer down as if to go and save her but had second thoughts.
“Hey,” he called to his attention. “Do you mind?”
In response, he got a nod and willing acceptance of the pair of tongs. Wiping his hands on the rug he conveniently placed on the table next to the pair of them, he took off in strides toward the swing set. He crossed the war with much ease, looking only at the referee to offer his half-pity in the form of a shrug and an uncommitted smile. When he got to the swings his pace slowed down as he locked eyes with the boy.
“Hi,” he started with a soft smile.
“Hi,” the boy replied dully.
“Uko poa?” he asked gently, with his hands sliding into his pocket.
“Niko sawa,” the boy said, looking away at the sad attempt to act cool.
“Mbona hukai sawa. Umefuuuuura,” he poked. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing is wrong,” the boy answered back in a deadpan tone.
“Yeah? But you are swinging alone when everyone else is playing out there,” he got closer and put his weight on the post the swings hung from.
“I just want to swing,” the boy said. “I don’t want to play football.”
“Okay,” he affirmed. “That’s okay. I was just checking if you were okay.”
“What time are we going home?” the boy inquired.
“Uh,” he hesitated at the question. “Lunch has just started. Maybe after lunch and some games. Why? You want to go home?”
“Mh,” was all the boy responded and proceeded to swing and look off into the distance.
“Can I?” he gestured toward the other swing.
“No, you’ll break it,” the boy shot. “You are too big.”
“Ala?” he was amused.
This boy just takes after his mother’s sharp tongue, he thought. But he couldn’t stop the worry from drowning his heart and it must have slipped into his expression because it was now his turn to answer.
“Daddy,” the boy swooped in. “What’s wrong? You look sad.”
“I’m just worried,” he answered truthfully.
“About what?” the boy pushed.
“About what is making you sad,” he was blatant.
“So me being sad is making you sad?” the boy looked at his father keenly.
“A little bit,” he admitted. “I was thinking today you would have fun but now you want to leave early and you are here by yourself just swinging. Not talking and laughing.”
There was a bit of silence before the boy spoke again.
“Don’t be sad, Daddy,” the boy tilted his head but maintained eye contact. “The sun is out so you should be smiling. Don’t be sad because I’m sad.”
“That is hard to do, my son,” he confided.
“But I’m just sad,” the boy pointed out. “It will pass. Si I can be sad and just be sad?”
“I suppose,” he accepted.
“Then let me be sad now,” the boy added. “So I can be happy later.”
He was taken slightly aback. When did this child learn to be so good at his emotions? He thought to himself. He half-expected this sadness to be a pressure cooker of tears about to explode but not a single tear.
“Hmm, okay,” he conceded. “Okay, I will let you be sad for now. I will call you when the food is ready.”
He turned and took a few steps before stopping in his tracks and turning back to the boy once more.
“Do you like to get sad like this often?” he asked curious what the boy was thinking.
“Sometimes,” the boy answered. “I get sad but then I remember Teacher said that sometimes sadness is like clouds and tears are like rain. Sometimes, even though the sun is out, the clouds are there and sometimes even when there is clouds, the rain is not there.”
“Oh,” was all he could say.
“Today, there is no rains,” the boy said innocently. “So I am sad but I won’t cry.”
He looked at his son in bewilderment. How old is this kid again? he thought. Four, maybe.
“Daddy,” the boy continued. “I named Sadness but the sun is out and I don’t feel like playing but I want to stay here at the swings a little.”
“Okay,” he nodded. “I will come to get you when your lunch is ready.”
“Okay,” the boy continued to swing with a little more energy.
He walked back to the boy and rubbed his messy hair before beginning his walk back to the grill. He looked back every few steps and wondered how he had never looked at it that way. All he had wanted was to cheer up the child.
