01 Feb Loving the Unloved
We were browsing in one of those fancy marketplace cafes where coffee and pastries are served in a space full of candles, cards, sweets and gifts.
On a low shelf, shoved behind marked-down seasonal items, was a stuffed toy llama.
The llama had seen better days. Its fur was worn and frazzled. Something that looked like grape jelly was smeared above its left eye. The threads were loose on its hooves, and a bit of stuffing was poking out on one side. The tag attached to its ear showed an original price of $30. That amount was crossed out, with the marked-down price of $15 written in black ink above.
I watched as Ella picked up the llama and looked at it. She smoothed down its fur and poked the stuffing back into its brown hoof. Carefully, she placed it back on the shelf.
We ate our pastries. We went on with our day. But Ella couldn’t stop thinking about the llama. Over the next few days, she would wake up and wonder if someone bought it. She hoped they had. She would go to sleep feeling worried that no one had bought it and it was alone. She hoped it wasn’t.
After many days of wishing and wondering, she asked if I would go back to the store and check on the llama. When I said I would, I found a $20 bill, unfolded from her piggy bank, on my desk. “Please buy me the llama if it is there,” she wrote on a sticky note before she left for school.
That day, I went back to the cafe. More than a week had passed and the shelves were different. The holiday items had been removed, replaced with shelves full of Valentine’s Day trinkets.
Wanting to make sure I had a thorough report for Ella, I waited in line and asked if anyone knew what had happened to the llama. I pointed to where it had been.
The cafe employee went to the back and returned with a basket full of the leftover items that had been marked down further and further but still hadn’t sold. I could see a llama foot poking out of the side.
“I’ll take it.” I said, pulling my wallet from my purse.
“Are you sure?” the girl asked. “It’s sort of… gross.” She laughed as she pulled the stuffed animal from the basket tentatively with long, manicured nails. She wasn’t wrong. The llama had endured even more disgrace since we had last seen it. Its head must have rubbed against something with green glitter, and it looked like there were bits of pinecone tangled in its fur.
I was reminded of the children’s book “Corduroy,” where the less-than-perfect bear with the missing button becomes the only one the little girl wants.
Children loving unloved things is not a new story. Drawing from a place of empathy, children seem to understand compassion especially well. Their tenderness and sensitivity to suffering leads them to try to alleviate it through helpful action.
As I tucked Ella into bed that night, I looked at the llama, safe and cared for in her arms. I gently kissed her head and sent a silent wish that as she grows up, she continues to speak up for those who have no voice and do what she can to help.