Kit Gets His Answer

Copyright © 2013, Robyn Gerland

So, the passengers are all deeply involved in ignoring my precocious son and his incredibly uncomfortable mother...

     The bus’ buzzer sounded and we pulled over to the curb.  I had a moment of relief as I saw us escaping but then imagined the embarrassment of disembarking amid Kit’s protests and questions and the others passenger’s sighs of relief.  A woman four rows up the bus was leaving her seat.  We could move.  I would be facing forward and I could answer Kit’s questions calmly and quietly; but just then the young man sitting next to me sprang forward into the vacant seat – escaping.

     Almost immediately, however, the man from across the aisle moved next to us.  Kit looked surprised and pleased.  I felt only shocked.

     “Well Kit,” he said, “I think that’s your name.  Am I right?” As he spoke to my son he glanced at me - a request for permission.  I nodded.

     “Well mostly,” said Kit.  “I have a real name but it’s too long.  I can’t say it properly, yet.”

     “Oh,” said the man.  “Would that be Christopher?”

     Kit’s eyes blinked and danced. “How did you know?”

     “I guessed,” said the man.  “And I think I was right.  I also think that you would like to know about my hat.”

     “See,” said Kit, turning back to me.  “I was right.  It is a hat.”

     “Well, sort of,” said the man. “I have very long hair and I use it to tuck the hair up under but it’s also a religious symbol – just like your mom said.”

     “A simple?”

     “No, symbol,” the man said slowly and carefully. “Did you wear a poppy on Armistice Day?  On Poppy Day?” he continued.

     Kit nodded.

     “Well that poppy was a symbol.  I t showed that you remembered the soldiers who died.  And you cared about them.  Do you know the word respect? 

     Kit nodded again.

     The readers, pickers and sleepers were now alert.

     “Well, that poppy showed that you respected those soldiers.”

     “But your hat…it’s not a poppy...not a red one.

     No my hat is called a dastaar but most people call it a turban.  It’s a symbol because it shows respect for the god that I believe in and for myself.  Does that make sense, Mr. Christopher?” he asked as he stood and pressed the buzzer.

     “Yes. You wear your hat so that I can know that you’re respectful,” said my son.

     The bus trip had indeed been an educational experience.  The tutelage of Christopher Moody had definitely, but from a totally unexpected source, been enhanced - his growing awareness of the world truly expanded.  And I?  I was suddenly aware that I had not suffered one moment of the sideseat queasies. 

                  

  

HAPPY BIRTHDAY, MICAH!