Every slow Sunday should be graced with little moppets who feel comfortable enough in the store to just explore freely without too much parental intrusion. I was working alone at the store when a lovely family came in to browse.
The young girl, Lucy, was happily checking out the whole store. I turned my chair around to discover the young browser checking out the back office. She saw the overstock chaos and pretty much fled. I saw her next sitting on a foot stool by the mass market mysteries exclaiming she needed a new book for nap time. Lucy loved all the books and in her little snowsuit she was just about the cutest thing I’d ever seen. Just when I thought she had reached the heights of cuteness, I heard a noise.
A small sound, not the least bit upset sounding, came from the toy section, “Help.” I listened and leaned over the counter to make sure she was okay. She was fine. “Help me. I can’t see.” Her bemused mom came over. Lucy earnestly looked up at her from her tippy toes with her hand on a ball. “I can’t see the ballie.” So simple, so clear.
I will forever hear her feisty, almost independent cry for help and smile. This little girl didn’t cry or get upset, she just asked for what she needed. She had been rearranging these balls (why do so many kids like to rearrange displays?) according to color, not size as they had been, and grew frustrated when she could no longer see nor feel the balls that needed a new home. There was something so funny and touching about her that I’ve been charmed ever since.
And, as wrong as it seems, I’ve left the ball display just the way Lucy left it.