This is a simple story. A love story of a young boy who loves a man.
Yesterday, a bruised November 12th sky bled, showering the tiny sea town of Namerikawa, Japan with its cold, seemingly continuous tears. Shivering, I tucked my hands deeply into my pockets. I quietly walked the empty hallway to my class. I peered out of the frosted glass, gazed at the melancholy sky and softly whispered, “Winter is officially here.” The fallen leaves that carpet the bitter ground reaffirms this.
The bell rings. My students nervously trickle into the large room. Today is their Show and Tell presentation. One by one they apprehensively stand in front of everyone, shyly revealing to the class a little about their favourite things.
Eleven o’clock, a little boy, whose name means River House, slowly walks to the podium. He bravely stands, unflinchingly pulls out an aged picture from his shirt pocket, clears his throat and starts.
He momentarily stares at the picture and then begins: “My favourite thing is this picture. It is a picture of my father and I. I have not seen him since I was a baby because my parents divorced. I miss him very much. It is my favourite thing because I love my father. I hope to see him again. This hope is my treasure.” He gently bows and then slowly walks back to his seat.
I begged my eyes to stop but it refused to listen. A noticeable film of tear wets my sad, dark eyes.
For little River House, time had stood still. The love he has for his father is unwavering, uncompromising. He lives in the purest hope that one day they will be reunited.
As a young man who lives in irrefutable hope, it is my sincerest wish is that little River House can one day meet his father, show and tell him how much he loves him. But more so, I want his father to show and tell his son who has been patiently waiting and quietly suffering, “I love you, son.”
Jenson recommends: Never give up hope.