The man came upon the boy sitting alone on a bench waiting for the school bus. He sat down and patted the youngster on the knee.
"You don't supposed to touch me," the boy said, pulling away.
"Sometimes it's okay to touch."
"My daddy says grown men shouldn't touch kids. It ain't natural. Means they're up to no good."
"No one's around to watch," said the man. "This is just between you and I. Let me touch you again. You look like a good boy. Let me hold your hand. The one you got stuck in your pocket. I'll give you a dollar. A dollar, and maybe something much better."
"Gosh, Mister, I don't know. Gimme the dollar, then you can touch my hand, but that's all."
The man dropped a bill into the boy's upturned palm. The boy took his other hand out of his pocket and held it out to the man to touch, and the other did so, briefly.
Suddenly the boy dropped the dollar in his excitement, and rubbed both hands together.
"It's done cured!" the boy cried, flexing the fingers of his left hand. "My hand got hurt real bad a long time ago, but now it's well. You touched my hand and made it all good again!"
He turned to the man, but there was no one there. So the boy, forgetting he was supposed to catch the school bus, jumped up and ran home laughing--anxious to show his family his cured hand, and to tell his dad that sometimes it was okay to let a stranger touch you.
"You don't supposed to touch me," the boy said, pulling away.
"Sometimes it's okay to touch."
"My daddy says grown men shouldn't touch kids. It ain't natural. Means they're up to no good."
"No one's around to watch," said the man. "This is just between you and I. Let me touch you again. You look like a good boy. Let me hold your hand. The one you got stuck in your pocket. I'll give you a dollar. A dollar, and maybe something much better."
"Gosh, Mister, I don't know. Gimme the dollar, then you can touch my hand, but that's all."
The man dropped a bill into the boy's upturned palm. The boy took his other hand out of his pocket and held it out to the man to touch, and the other did so, briefly.
Suddenly the boy dropped the dollar in his excitement, and rubbed both hands together.
"It's done cured!" the boy cried, flexing the fingers of his left hand. "My hand got hurt real bad a long time ago, but now it's well. You touched my hand and made it all good again!"
He turned to the man, but there was no one there. So the boy, forgetting he was supposed to catch the school bus, jumped up and ran home laughing--anxious to show his family his cured hand, and to tell his dad that sometimes it was okay to let a stranger touch you.
