When a Boy Sees Beauty

Last weekend, my friend’s eight and five year old sons spent an afternoon with me. Their mom wanted quiet time to study and some one-on-one time with her teenage daughter. The boys brought their bikes to my house and after a good ten minutes of adjusting seat heights and helmet straps, tying shoes, and going potty, they were geared up for a ride around Holt Arena while I walked my dogs.

Still in my driveway, I finagled three leashes and arranged the stubborn old golden, the deaf older golden, and the three year old labradoodle puppy. I fear that guy will always be a puppy. I was ready to forward march when the eight year old boy shouted my name.

“Billie! Have you seen this? It’s beautiful!”

I felt a flash of irritation and exhaled. I finally had the dogs situated. The prep time for our walk and ride was surpassing the time for our actual venture. I turned to look. He’d gotten off his bike and was crouched on my lawn 12 inches from a fully bloomed daffodil. He pointed and turned his head toward me with bright eyes and a smile. My impatience dissolved.

I validated his assessment of beauty and spelled daffodil admitting that I didn’t know if it had one or two “L’s.” I nodded at his descriptions of “bright and cheerful” while I motioned for him to get back on his bike. My dogs tugged and bounced and clearly didn’t grasp the beauty of the daffodil or the boy who noticed it.

After our loop around Holt, the boys convinced me they needed a snack. My seemingly expensive apple-corer was invaluable as it transformed the lone apple in my house to eight equally sized slices for them to share. I asked the five year old how many they would each get and when he correctly told me four, his older brother congratulated him.

I sat them and their four apple slices each at my dining room table while I refilled the dogs’ water bowl. At the kitchen sink, I heard the eight year old exclaim again, “Billie! Have you seen this?” He was pointing to my back yard through the dining room window.

I opened the back door and took a peek. I didn’t see anything. My neighbors have chickens that intrigue the boys, so I expected to see them doing a little jig based on the boy’s excitement. I canvassed our yards and there was nothing but a breezy, spring stillness. Then I saw it.

“You mean the buds on the fruit tree?”

“Yes! Aren’t they beautiful? Look at them. Look at them!” 

There he sat with his back to the table, sitting sideways on the chair, legs crossed while he stared out my window and chomped on his apple. I took him in while he took in the newly discovered beautiful blossoms.

I remember the drives to church camp when I was a kid and my mom implored me to look at the mountains and trees out the window and admire their beauty. It drove me crazy. You can’t force someone, let alone a preteen to see beauty. But I see it now. I see it almost as often as this boy does.

Amidst his Legos, Transformers and hours of Mine Craft, beauty strikes him, and he’ll tell you. Seeing him notice and react along with his demands to see what he sees are beautiful in their own right. Part of enjoying beauty is sharing it with others, and he longs to share. So do I.

He has no idea when he asks me to see the beauty he sees, that his is what I notice. I hope his appreciation for simple splendor and that sheer joy stay with him as he grows.  I hope classmates and peers join in when he asks them to see beauty, and if they can’t see what he sees, at least appreciate the beauty that lies in him.