This Little Boy Made Me Sad

Miscellaneous and Personal Stuff I Must Share
1

Thursday last, the doorbell at the museum in which I work rang, and a co-worker went to answer it. I peered around the corner to see who it was, and was surprised to see a lone little boy standing there. I’m not good with judging the age of children, but he couldn’t have been more than five.

“Can I help you?” my co-worker asked.

“I’ve never been here before,” the little boy chirped. “I wanna come in and see.”

“I’m sorry, honey, but you have to have a parent with you.”

He looked crestfallen. “But Shawn came here and he’s in the third grade.”

“Yes, but that was a field trip and there were teachers with him. You can’t see the museum without a grown-up with you.”

“But why?” His little face crumpled.

“That’s just the rules, honey. I’m sorry. If you can get your mommy or daddy to come with you, you can come back and we’ll show you the whole place, okay? Where do you live?”

He said an address which was two houses down from the museum. She told me later that she’d asked because it seemed downright bizarre to see a little one that young roaming by himself. After she closed the door, I could see him press his face against the glass, craning to see what mysterious goodies lay within.

Today, the bell rang again, and there stood the same little boy, pushing a bicycle equipped with training wheels. “I wanna come in and see,” he announced.

“I’m sorry, sweetheart, but you have to have an adult with you,” I told him. He frowned, mounted the bike, and pedaled down the walk, watching me over his shoulder, perhaps hoping I’d change my mind. I lurched toward the door to warn him, but was too late. He hit the curb and toppeled over. There were a few tears, but he had fallen over somewhat slowly, so he didn’t even have any scrapes. "I told him gently that I’d love to take him through the museum if he could come back with a grown-up.

Twenty minutes later, the bell rang and as soon as I stepped into the lobby, I could see him pressed against the door, his hands cupped around his eyes. A boy about a year older stood beside him, and when I approached, I saw that he was wearing a large plastic sword on his back. “This is my brother,” the younger boy said, wiggling like a puppy in excitement when I opened the door.

“Honey, he’s not a grown-up,” I said. “You have to have an *adult, * like your mom or dad, or one of your teachers.”

“But-- But–” he protested. His brother seized him by the arm and dragged him down the walk, still sputtering.

I felt so bad for him, so eager to see a museum, and barred at the door. Morosely, I wondered if he would internalize it and hate museums forever because we were so mean in rejecting him. I was tempted to ignore the rules, but considering the countless liability issues, knew that I could not.

He reminded me of another little boy, this one about nine years old, who came to the museum with his father, eyes sparkling with excitement and babbling as they approached the admissions desk about all the things he’d been told he’d see. The dad didn’t seem so enthused. He asked me how much admission was and I told him that it would be four dollars-- his son would be admitted for free.

“Four dollars!” he exclaimed. “I’m not paying that kind of money for this. Come on, son.”

The boy went over to a doorway and craned his neck inside to see some of the exhibits, ignoring his father’s command.

“Son, come on!” the dad commanded. “I’m going out to the car.”

“Can I stay?” the boy asked, looking for all the world like Oliver Twist, begging for more gruel. The dad went out the door without waiting for our answer. We told the kid that we were sorry, but without a parent, he couldn’t go beyond the lobby.

With a frustrated little sigh, he went over to another doorway, stretching his body out over the sill, one hand clutched to the frame for balance, swaying like a snake as he tried to curve around to see more. He lingered there for a few moments, and then went to another doorway, but couldn’t see inside its gloomy depths. (We keep the lights off when no one is touring.) I went over to the light switches and threw them on, and was rewarded with a smile. He asked me questions about what he could see from the doorway, and then reluctantly left.

Both of these incidents tugged at my heart. I know why we have the policy in place, and the reasoning is sound, but it’s still regrettable when you see a little kid so eager to see a museum but can’t find an adult either willing or able to bring them.

2

Oh dear. Now I’m sad too.

I’m sitting here thinking of ways to let the little ones inside (volunteers, permission slips, etc.), but you’re right, there’s no way to do it without courting trouble. How sad.

Does the museum have brochures that these kids could have? Take home, show mom or dad, maybe with a coupon for free admission?

3

Oh, that is sad.

Going to the museum often is one of my happy childhood memories. There were so many things that I loved and would revisit every time I went. it wasn’t a particularly large museum and I knew every room of it. I hope that little boy can find an adult who will take him along soon! Museums are magical places, like libraries, and it hurts to think of children shut out of them. (I agree that it’s an entirely practical policy, though!)

4

Oh, how touching. Maybe he was sad because:

Is an incredibly lame answer to a perfectly legitimate question?

You could have at least explained to him that if he were to hurt himself while inside the museum that the wrath of the Men in Black Robes, as carried out by their agents; the Men in Blue Uniforms would be levied against you and your coworkers at incredible cost in pain and hassle to yourself, and so you must Cover Your Ass. At least then he would have walked away having learned something about the world, instead of the ignorant slob you left him as.

5

Could you on one of your off days go to his house and take him? Or does your museum have rules against that too? That is too bad—hopefully he will find someone who can take him through.

6

Sometimes when I read about children like that - who still have such a thirst for knowledge - I think maybe the world isn’t going to hell in a handbasket after all.

Last Sunday after my catsitting duties were done, I stopped by a local country food buffet for dinner. Mr. SCL was a work, and is never interested in dinner after a 12 hour shift. While I was at the buffet helping my plate with a far too large portion of sweet potato souffle, a young boy (maybe 7 - I have no kids so I don’t judge age well) stopped by me, touched me on the arm and said “Happy Mother’s Day”.

I thanked him with tears in my eyes. He was sitting at a large table of (I assume) relatives, with all of the ladies carrying red roses. I guess he noticed the woman sitting by herself with a book.

There is hope for this world!

7

Eh, he was probably more interested by the fact that you had boobs than your book.

(yes, even at 7, that would have been my motivation)

8

But, even at age 7, would “Happy Mother’s Day” have been your approach?

9

Sure - the first thing we learn as men is that any valid excuse to approach and speak to a woman is a good one. :smiley:

10

Same here… and then I read about adults like the not-paying-four-dollars dad, and I change my mind right back.

11

The dad is trying to bring the world to hell in a handbasket but he’s too dumb to find the way.

Thanks Og.

12

That’s really sad. I’m impressed whenever I see a young kid yearning for knowledge. I was like that when I was a kid – I used to love the Ontario Science Center. It was like Disneyworld for the mind. And then I hear about parents who won’t subject their kids to that stuff either because they don’t like it (despite clear indications their children do) or it’s “too expensive” (wait’ll they get a load of the tab for ignorance) or somesuch nonsense. A child’s interest in a museum in particular is a special thing because it’s ordinarily so dry and static that few enough kids are excited about the prospect of seeing bits of world history and the stories behind them. It’s a shame that kid couldn’t convince his parent(s) to bring him in.

13

Do you have more than one person working the desk? If so, why doesn’t one of you take a half-hour break and show the little guy around the next time he drops by? He’s young enough that he won’t need a whole lot of in-depth information, so you can just walk through with him and point out a few random things a kid his age might be interested in. I know I would’ve been over the moon if an adult had taken the time to give me a tour of a museum, All By Myself, at that age.

14

I dunno about the OP, but no way in hell would I do this, as much as I’d have wanted to. Liability issues being what they are today. Besides, I’m sure they’re absolutely not allowed to.

15

I gotta ask: What kind of museum is it?

Tripler
Now I’m curious, and I am* a grown up! [sub]* Subject to debate[/sub]

16

I was wondering what brand of coolness is in there, as well. The last time I tried THAT hard to get into a museum, it was because it housed a one-eyed kitten and a two-headed calf. It rocked!

17

It’s a general history museum. We have just about everything, from fossils to cars. (Think mini-Smithsonian.) It’s a four-building complex, and kids usually love it.

I just gave a tour to 100 third-graders today, and they all told me that they had a lot of fun, and from their excited jabbering, I think they spoke true. In our city, every third-grader comes to the museum each year, and since I figure this might be the only time many of them have ever been to the museum, I try to make it as fun as I can, and focus on what kids will find interesting.

Of course, with kids that young, I don’t talk about dates and the dry aspects of history with them, but the gross and “weird” stuff that always grabs their attention, like chamber pots, corsets and infrequent bathing. I talk about the barbaric medical practices of the time (no painkillers, leeches and bleeding-- Always gets me a chorus of “Ewww!”) and pillory and whipping post used as punishment for crimes. Instead of talking about statehood politics, I tell them about our hometown daredevil who used to try to jump long distances in his Model-T, and how he crashed his airplane trying to do stunts.

And, by golly, they seem to listen. They’re often required to write thank-you notes, and I often get letters like this: “Miss Lissa, thank you for showing us the museum. I liked hearing about the outhouses! Your friend, Josh.”

Like a drug dealer, I try to hook 'em while they’re young. If I can get them a little interested in history, perhaps they’ll start reading about it on their own, and maybe, just maybe, the numbingly boring history classes they’ll have to take during their school years won’t be able to crush their interest.

Unfortunately, we don’t have any two-headed calves, but I did tell a little boy today about the skull of a murderer hanged in the 1860s which we have in our collection and promised to get it out of storage and show it to him if he came back with his parents.

18

Or maybe they’ll just do real drugs instead, since no one ever taught them about liability and responsibility, and now have nothing else to do because they get kicked out wherever they go without explanation.

19

Oh, bugger off.

20

So do you have an issue with Lissa in general or are you just being obnoxious out of general principle? Both of your major responses in this thread have dripped with sarcasm about how it is Lissa’s responsibility to teach this young child the ways of the world and all the big bad things in it.

Do you think honestly that Lissa explaining to a 5 year old about liability issues is the right thing to do? The explanation has to be age specific–this wasn’t a 12 or 16 year old–someone who can understand about liability, etc. At five years old–saying that is the rule might be appropriate, it might not be. But it isn’t her responsibility to teach that to this child.