Love begins at home

I arrived home today to find my mum crying. I jumped for only a second, knowing my mum, she'll cry over a sad story. So I asked her what s going on. She called on Brandon and told me to sit and listen to his poem. Apparently he wrote this poem for school and his teacher was impressed and copies of his poem will be given to everybody in school, plus it will be put on the school wall, as the teacher never read something so touching from a student his age before. I know my son. He is smart, and humble, and cheeky all in one. I knew he must have written something nice. This is his poem :

First time I saw a homeless person

I looked down in disgrace

gave him money cause he hadn't  had a very nice place

I thought I d live my life and just get on with my school

But than I realized I don't wanna be a fool.

We really need to help them, cause they re strong people

Cause without our help, their life might have no sequel

We're lucky. You might not even realize it

That there are people out there who just been thrown in a pit

With no strength or courage, they fall on the road

but this Christmas we ll change it and well give' em a load

You can't just sit there and let 2014 be the same

We need to get up and say it isn't a game!

I hope this poem opens your eyes and rings a bell, 

Don't just listen to me! Listen to them as well! 

Ah, I said to my mum, why can't he be more like the kids around him? They don't care so much at all. Of course I did not mean that, but I do think sometimes he is too good, for his own good. Mum remembered what happened three summers ago: they went together to Romania, first summer holiday there for Brandon. I remember well myself, cause it was that very trip when some friend of mine from here Dublin went home on the same flight and told me my mum would not buy Brandon some drink he asked for in the plane . I gave out to my mum.   I couldn't have cared less what my friend thought about it, still she should have bought the drink if Brandon was thirsty, thats what got me upset.  But my mum could not get over something else: what Brandon did when they got off the plane. In the airport, he saw and read one of the glass covered charity boxes for homeless children. And before my mum had time to stop him, he dropped all seventeen Euro he had on him, his pocket money. He went on and asked his grandma: "is it true, do these children have no home and food?"  My mum was stunned and could not forget that, and again she talked to me about it today. Yes, I know my son is a good child. It will take a while for him to learn that people are not all good, as it took me. But like Mother Theresa rightfully said "Love begins at home". Brandon does not hear me talking bad on others, we go to church when I m off on Sunday, he s not exposed to fights and bad words at home. I encourage him to pray, even if he s expressing doubts in God sometimes, it must be the result of all the talks teenagers have. He s very much like me: he may question everything but uses common sense and his own heart to get to know the truth. He s calm, but he can get passionate when he knows he's right and the other wrong. I see him growing up and I hope he ll be a good man one day. After all, "adolescence is a new birth, for the higher and more completely human traits are now born". But I want him be humble without others waking on him. To be proud and aware of his own worth. To know things like "if you re the smartest person in the room You probably are in the wrong room". Things that my dad would have probably taught me, if not calling me near his deathbed when I was nine and ask me to take care of mum. 

So yesterday, while I was writing on poverty and overpopulation of the world, Brandon was writing his poem on homeless people for school today. He never mentioned it or asked for help, he d just get on and do his work. I ll say I was proud today when he read it to me... Also yesterday Mandela died, may he RIP. I don't believe in coincidences, and there s probably nothing to it. But I believe in small things happening all over the world and they each have a significance, all things small or big, happening for a reason.