The Waiting Room

My young daughter had caught a cold, or, heaven forbid the flu, and I was waiting with her in the pediatrician's 'sick' waiting room. As my little girl sat quietly huddled on my lap, sucking her thumb and taking what comfort she could from my embrace, I had nothing else to do but notice the only other people in the room.

The little boy, probably about three years old, had a tousled mop of dark brown hair that matched his father's. He squirmed in his seat, obviously miserable from whatever had brought him to the pediatrician's office. The man tried to calm the youngster by distracting him with a book and with various toys on the nearby table, but the little guy was having none of it. He turned away from his father and started sobbing in earnest.

Just then, another little boy, maybe three or four years older, bounded back from the bathroom, crawled up next to the miserable toddler, and said, "Aw Sammy, are you still sad?"

The effect was immediate. The sobbing youngster turned toward his brother, who pulled him into a big hug and kissed his hair.

"Tummy hurts, Dean," the younger brother whined. It was the first time I'd heard the little one talk.

"Well, of course, silly," the older boy admonished. "That's what ya get for putting chocolate ice-cream on your baskettios."

"Dean," the father interrupted, "You know Spaghettios wouldn't give him the fever he has. It's probably the flu bug."

"I has bugs?" The toddler seemed alarmed.

"No Sammy. It's the skettios." The boy had as officious a tone as anyone I'd ever heard, especially for one so young, but the little boy seemed comforted and curled into his brother's arms even more. "The doctor will give you some medicine and your tummy will feel all better."

"P'omise, Dean?"

"Promise, Sammy!" The younger boy's entire disposition quieted and though he obviously still felt bad, he had completely ceased worrying, as if his big brother had wielded some magic wand and made everything okay.

The father just sat back and watched, seemingly as awed by the sight as I was. I had never seen two siblings as close as these two…as interdependent. I had never seen such an obviously ill little boy quiet so quickly and completely at just a verbal reassurance…especially a reassurance from another child.

Around that time, the nurse called my daughter's name and we left the scene in the waiting room behind. The boys and their father were gone by the time we got out, no doubt back with the doctor, and we never saw them again. I remember hoping that the two boys always stayed that close as they grew. It would be nice for them to have someone they could depend on that completely through whatever life brought their way. I wished them happiness as I bundled my daughter into the car, slipped behind the steering wheel, and drove off, back to my own life.