The Little People
The first of many things I wasn't supposed to see
I loved family visits to my father’s father, Joseph Leroy Diehl. I would run into their apartment and give him a big hug. When I was very little girl, about three years old, he would let me comb his hair while he watched the Yankees’ game on the tiny television my father gave him. His hair fascinated me. It was black and thick, unlike my mother’s or mine.
One cold winter day, when I ran in to hug him, he was having a vision and I saw it too. Between my grandfather and the tiny television was a Little Person, a man.
“Who’s that, Poppop?” I asked him.
My question surprised him. He turned and looked at me with wide eyes and paused a minute before answering. Maybe he was trying to think of an age-appropriate answer. People my grandfather knew usually did not see the Little People.
“Oh, that’s Jack Frost,” he said, “the one who paints ice pictures on the window.”
I was delighted. I loved Jack Frost’s ice art. I ran into the kitchen to tell my parents, “Poppop has Jack Frost in the living room.” I dragged them in to see.
When they came in the room, “Jack Frost” was gone. No Little Person remained. My parents thought I was telling a lie and I was punished. I was confused. I was only three and didn’t know what a lie was.
The Little People are mythological characters who traditionally lived in caves and helped full-sized people. The one in Poppop’s living room had adapted to life in a New Jersey apartment.
Since I saw the Little Person, my great aunt and uncle tried to teach me native culture and spirituality while my grandfather lived. I was given a turtle rattle and small drum with drumstick. When I was eight years old, my grandfather died. My father continued to teach me native crafts and introduce me to as much of the culture as he could.
I had a mother who loved to read me stories and poems and a father who loved art and science. At birth doctors said I had a fatal condition and they did not expect me to live past the age of 12. So far, I have surpassed that life expectancy by 68 years thanks to my mother's dedication. Besides dedication to my healing, my mother shared the magic of words and imagination. She delighted when I danced and made up my own little poems. They made it possible for something magical to fill my life and hers.
Rev. Aikya Param is a staff minister at Oakland Center for Spiritual Living. Her new book Near Me: A Book of Poetry is available for your delight. She writes nonfiction articles and poetry. Read more by Rev. Aikya at Clippings.me — Aikya Param.
Dear Rev. Aikya,
Thank you for sharing your shared vision you had with your Grandfather. I find it amazing that two people can share an unseen experience. It reminds me of my recent visit to St. John Coltrane Church in San Francisco. It was founded by Rev. F. King and Rev. Marina King. They shared a vision of the Holy Ghost coming down to John Coltrane at a performance in San Francisco.
One more point, yesterday at my poetry class a friend asked me if I knew about the little people? What? Yes he had just read a poem about the little people of Indonesia (Flores by Tracy K. Smith) What a coincidence? Love, Ruben