This picture is a family treasure. Because we are highly intellectual and creative, we simply call him the “Blue Boy”.
My handsome, young parents lived in Broughton, England. For months when they were out and about, they passed the Blue Boy hanging in the window of a small shop. My mother had just lost a baby and her heart was too shattered for footie pajamas and a teddy bear. Time passed and she got pregnant with me. And wonder of wonders, the picture was still hanging in the shop window.
At the end of her 1st trimester, with me still safely tucked in utero, she and my Dad went and bought the Blue Boy.
Every time my mom tells the Blue Boy story I can see them carrying the painting through the streets of town to their tiny house. Holding hands. Talking. Laughing. Expecting. Wishing for a happy ending.
A hammer and nail ring out a welcome party as Blue Boy is hung in his spot. A blue beacon for the baby they hoped would arrive safe and sound.
Blue Boy traveled with them from England to Nigeria. From Nigeria to Greece. Where my brother was born. The Blue Boy has guarded our hallways no matter where we lived.
When I was pregnant, after they recovered from their shock ( I was so not a maternal person), they sent the Blue Boy to live with me.
Blue Boy was the first thing I hung in Girl Wonder’s nursery. When she finally made her debut, he watched over us night after night. Silently, with his back turned, he would whisper. Hope is for real. Hope is in your arms. Yeah, Youse guys gonna be OK (sometimes the Blue Boy is snarky and talks in a Jersey accent). And he was right.
He still hangs in my hallway. And one day, he may hang in Maggie’s hallway. Just so she remembers. That we all come into this world with a push, a cry and hope hanging on a nail nearby.
What’s the Blue Boy in your story?
