When A Hug is Not Just a Hug

One of the very frustrating things about where we live (which will probably drive us out of here in a few years) is the lack of anything Ethiopian.  Our entire state has one Ethiopian restaurant and it is 2 hours away, in a city we aren't fond of, which is also way off our beaten paths.  Three hours away, in a neighboring state, there is an Ethiopian restaurant we love.  It is between our house and Bill's parents' house, so we try to make it there as often as we can.  Aside from one Ethiopian woman we know in town, who is against adoptions from Ethiopia and has treated our family quite rudely, Ethiopian restaurants are the only places where our kids have seen adult Ethiopians since we left Ethiopia almost two years ago.  Crazy, I know. 

So this past Sunday, as we were returning from a long weekend and Grandma and Apapa's house, we stopped at the restaurant.  As you walk in, there is a half wall dividing the front door from the dining room.  Our boys were walking beside us, unseen by the Ehiopian waitress on the other side of the wall.  She greets us kindly, but everything changes once she sees the boys.  Scootle-doot greets her with the "Selam" he was practicing in the car.  She swoons and gives him a hug, speaking to him in Amharic.  The sight takes me back and my breath catches in my throat.  They look so beautiful together.

We have a delicious dinner.  Scootle tries out his random Amharic words on her.   The boys eat so ravenously that we realize we will have to order a lot more next time.  Our common plate is completely clean, every bit of injera eaten in glee.  The food is celebrated among us.  Our waitress smiles contentedly.  Our boys have charmed her.

As we get ready to leave, she gives Scootle another hug.  And then, something unusual happens.  Boo-boo, who was being whisked by Bill to go and get in the car, turns around and runs, with an incredibly determined look on his face, into the arms of the waitress.  He never does that with strangers.

I often wonder what is going on in the minds of my boys - this time especially.  I know those hugs were not just hugs.  Consciously or unconsciously for them, this woman represents a piece of themselves that they have lost.  A piece they haven't experienced for a long time.  A beautiful, loving Ethiopian face reflecting their history back to them.   And all I could do was stare, so happy for them and so full of wonder.