Real Moms Raise a Little Cain

David's found himself a new friend. The house across the street has been empty since the end of May when our neighbors moved away. Abby and Paul hung out with Spencer and David all summer long, running back and forth between the two houses for water fights, hide and seek and tag. For nearly five years--which is an eternity in child years--the four kids picked raspberries together, cleaned the hamster cage on the front lawn together and hit baseballs over the fence together until the day Abby and Paul's father got a job in New Mexico. All summer the house sat empty. Neighborhood kids still played on the corner lot--it was the best football field in the neighborhood--but one realty sign after another went up and still no one bought the house.

In January someone finally noticed the "sold" sign and we watched, waiting, to see who'd bought the house. Would they have children? Would they be friendly? Would they still let the neighborhood kids use their yard as a communal playground? A couple weeks ago David was outside playing when out of Abby and Paul's house came a little boy. They started playing together and when David came inside I asked him the name of his new friend.

With a puzzled look David said, "His name is Cain."

"What?"

"Cain." Then a pause and, "Mom, isn't that the guy we were reading about?"

Now as it happens our family tries to get religion as best we can which lately has included reading the scriptural story of Adam and Eve--and Cain and Abel. No lie, earlier that week we'd read "And Cain rose up and slew his brother Abel . . . " (or something like that) and it had made an impression on my little theologians. So to be faced with a new friend with a rather sinister name confused David a bit. He wouldn't have been more surprised if the new kid's name was Voldemort or Darth.

Later that night around the dinner table when the other kids heard the news about our new neighbors and the moniker they'd bestowed on the child they'd begat it spooked them. The kids' eyes got big and round and rather worried. Andrew wondered how anyone could name their child Cain--you hear a lot of goofy things but you don’t get too many kids named Lucifer, Judas or Jezebel--I’ve heard of Delilah and it makes you wonder how a girl could get through life unscathed with a name like that.

Me, I figured that Cain was either a family name or they must not be the church-going types. It made sense that he’d be an only child, can you imagine a mom saying, “My little boy Cain can’t seem to get along with his brother at all. I wonder why? He has such problems with authority and anger management and we just can’t figure out the reason.” Who’d want to be the sibling of a kid named Cain?

So enter Cain. Perhaps you’re expecting a child with inky black hair, smoldering eyes and a flash of temper but the next day when I heard for the first time what was to become his signature "ding dong ding dong ding dong ding ding dong ding dong" ring of the bell I opened the door to a little second-grader with wavy sandy hair, big hazel eyes and the perfect amount of chubbiness to his cheeks. In short, a terrifically cute and appealing kid.

He smiled in a friendly way and as I looked at him a bit closer I saw he was wearing a somewhat thinnish winter coat—a good one in fine shape, just not the jumbo down puffy things I encase my children in—and boots. That’s all. This is Alaska in March coming off the nastiest cold snap we've had all winter, somewhere in the 15 degree range and he had his hood up but no hat, no snowpants, no mittens--just the coat and boots. He'd drawn his hands up into the arms of his jacket and shrugged his shoulders against the chill. Noting all this my mother’s heart instantly forgot his dubious eponym and wanted to pull him in for hugs, hot chocolate and a lecture on wearing proper winter gear.

He wanted to know if David could play and while waiting for David to appear I said, “Where are your mittens? Are your hands cold?”

He smiled a rather goofy, agreeable smile and said that once his fingers were white and hurting they were so cold.

My worry and curiosity aroused, I felt I couldn't let this little boy go without knowing more so I probed to see if he had any mittens at all or if he was just funny about wearing them. He dodged my questions in a curious way so in the end I went to my stash of winter gear, pulled out a rather worn pair of extra mittens and gave them to him. He quickly put them on. I told him we were going to the library and David couldn’t play right now but if Cain's mother said it was alright he could come with us.

Three minutes later he was back on the doorsteps with the mittens in his hands and gave them back to me saying, "My Mom says we already have extra mittens."

"Did you ask if you could go to the library?"

"Oh, I forgot."

He left and that was all we saw of him. This is quite a picture, I thought Here's a women who's named her child Cain and lets him play without mittens in these temperatures.

While Andrew and I were out Friday night Grace reported that Cain came by to see if David could play--dressed the same way--and five minutes after Grace had closed the door he rang the bell again to tell her a joke. He went through the whole performance (Grace is so patient, I can see her standing there kindly waiting for him to finish) till he came to the punch line at which point he cracked himself up and laughed and laughed. Grace politely said David still couldn’t play, come back tomorrow and goodbye.

He came by frequently after that asking if David could play and David’s been busy so he often couldn't but every time I saw Cain he was wearing—or not wearing—the same things. I watched him through our large living room window that overlooks the cul de sac, wandering between the houses on the street, his hands drawn up inside his jacket.

You’ll laugh at me but that night I laid awake worrying about this little boy and why he wasn’t wearing adequate clothing and why I’d not seen his parents yet. When I get tired my Mother Worry takes over until all I could think of was a little boy who didn’t seem to be supervised and who seemed a touch strange, though in a pleasant way.

Well after twenty minutes of tired thoughts I realized that the obvious solution was to stop judging and criticizing and to get over there and introduce myself. Ashamed at the realization of my rudeness and knowing that I knew how to be a better neighbor than that I decided to fix things.

So the next day there we were, six of us on their doorstep ringing their doorbell with a loaf of cranberry cinnamon bread waiting to see who'd open the door. When she opened the door it was apparent where Cain got his sandy coloring and good looks from--she was smiling, sweet, pretty, a little on the short side, and seemed surprised that someone would venture out in the cold to congregate on her front doorstep. She stood there with her arm affectionately draped around Cain's shoulders while we introduced ourselves and shook hands but when we said we lived in the gray house across the street, pointing in the direction of our house, she said, "Oh!" in a surprised moment of recognition.

It hit me that I'd probably offended her by giving her son the mittens and that I'd missed a chance to be a good neighbor by not coming over earlier. But I'm hopeful that I can change that and I'm looking forward to spring when everyone creeps, blinking in the sunlight, from their hibernation to look around and see who made it through another winter. David's found a new friend and maybe we have too.

So to answer DS's meme, real moms cut each other some slack--we're all doing the best we know how.

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