A short while ago, I wrote about children being so imperiled worldwide that they may be considered an endangered group. Hardly a week goes by, without news of attempted abductions or some other form of abuse. Struggling to uplift my morale, I recall a touching story from a long time ago. I was told it was true and seems worth repeating.
It was the worst of times, with better times to come. Shortly after the end of WWII in a small town in France, an army jeep was making its way down a narrow, cobblestone-paved street. A highly decorated general was going to a staff meeting on an early, cool, overcast, and foggy morning.
Rounding a curve, the driver made an abrupt stop. There, almost in the middle of the street, stood a little girl, alone and crying. She may have been 2-3 years old. Barefoot and dressed in a short, scant night shirt, she stood weeping over some felt discomfort.
“Stop the car,” ordered the general and quickly disembarked. As he approached, the child whimpered and looked bewildered. The man with graying hair dropped to one knee before the little girl and gently stroked her hair. They looked at each other without a word.
Then he took out his handkerchief from his back pocket and dried her tears. The girl did not back away. She stopped crying and looked at him intently. With curiosity, she touched some of the bright-colored ribbons on his chest. Moving slowly, the aging warrior, reached into one of his other pockets and brought out a candy bar. The child continued to look at him as he peeled the paper wrapper off and placed the candy in her hand. Without breaking her gaze, she raised the candy to her mouth and tasted it. Her weeping was over.
The general guided the child to the side of the street, gently, went back to the jeep and motioned to the driver to go on. As they were pulling away, the driver addressed the general: “May I ask a question, sir?” The officer nodded his head. “Why did you do that, sir?” asked the driver. The decorated warrior replied: “No man, ever, stands as tall as when he stoops to comfort a child.”
As the driver shifted to the next gear, he glanced into the rear view mirror. The little girl was still standing there. She was holding the candy in her mouth with one hand, and waving farewell with the general’s handkerchief, in her other hand.
“Yes, Sir!” whispered the driver under his breath and sped up, trying to make up lost time.
A man’s true greatness may not be revealed on a battlefield.
Fred Natkevi is a resident of Oak Park.