Hands

We both needed something from each other. I his service and him, my money. I noticed how young he was when he came closer. But then, I thought I was doing him a favour as I believed he needed the money very much. I asked told him what I wanted him to do, and he set to work. I couldn't help it. I stared. I observed his concentration on the task at hand. He was so young, I thought to my self. Why, he is barely a child!

My thoughts strayed... I started trying to imagine how bad the situation might have been for his parents (if he still had any) siblings, or guardian to send him out to the streets to earn a living. To fend for himself and find a means to survive on his own. At his age...

I kept staring. Under the guise that I was inspecting his work.

Then I saw them.

His hands...

They certainly didn't belong to a child. They were very big. Calloused. Weathered. Hands that had gone through many changes. Hands that looked stronger than mine. And older.

What happened to childhood?

Why do parents punish their children this way?

Why bring someone to this world if you cant take proper care of them?

What can we do to change things?

I couldn't help but compare him to other children. Children who went to schools. Who had warm breakfast in the morning. had a hot lunch packaged for them after school? Children that had assignments and had their lives structured for them.

Children who were given a chance, while others like him had to fight everyday for a chance to survive.

Children should be left to be children and not made to become adults. They should have soft hands and be innocent.

They should be loved and taken care of.