Little Man

painting by catrin welz-stein

Little Man

“Nothing is dead; men feign themselves into enduring a mock

funeral--and yet there they are standing & looking out a bright

window, sound & well, in some new disguise.”--Ralph Waldo

Emerson.

I have always loved the story of the 2 year old sibling

whispering in the ear of his newborn sister:

What does Jesus look like again--I forget?

Some of us, realizing that we are in lesson in this life,

embrace every shred of past memory that may bubble

up anywhere along our incarnate spectrum--although

many resist the truth of these insights secondary

to their conditioning, even rejecting the fact

that there have been thousands of young children

who recalled their past lives, with or without regressive

therapy, manifested as dreams, nightmares, comments,

and remarkable drawings--these behaviors beginning

as soon as language developed. 

Case in point, a story that aired on CBS Primetime

about a young boy, James Leiniger, who at a few months

older than a year was given a toy plane with a bomb attached

beneath it: No, Mommy, not a bomb, that is a dwop tank.

At 2.5 years old he began having terrible nightmares,

and when awakened he always said:

Plane on fire! Little Man can’t get out!

Who is the little man?

Me.

What is his name?

James.

Your name is James, son.

No, I am James 3.

What kind of plane are you flying?

Corsair.

Who shot down your plane?

The Japanese!

How do you know it was the Japanese?

The meatball had a big red sun on it.

Where did your plane come from?

A boat.

What kind of boat?

One that carries planes.

What was the boat’s name?

Natoma.

Later the parents, after some research, discovered

that a WWII aircraft carrier, the USS Natoma Bay,

CVE-62 did serve off Iwo Jima in 1945, and that

a James Houston, a member of Squadren VC-81

was shot down & died during a battle.

At 3 years old, little James began drawing furiously,

and the pictures were all of violent plane battles.

His father bought a book about the War in the Pacific.

James pointed to a picture of Iwo Jima and said:

Daddy, that’s where my plane was shot down.

They took him to a plane museum, and he kept

trying to get closer the WWII fighters--Mustangs,

Spitfires, & Wildcats.

They would buy him toy planes, and he would always

crash them into the furniture, tearing off the propellers.

At 4 years old 20/20 did a taped story on him, taking

him to another plane museum, showing him a Corsair.

He was allowed to get close to it, and he showed

an astonishing familiarity about the plane, pointing

to the tail hook, explaining that meant it was a 

Navy fighter.

One day he told his parents that he loved them, that

they were good parents & that is why he picked them

that day in Hawaii at the pink hotel. His parents were

stunned. They had never told him about their anniversary

trip to Hawaii 5 years before, staying in a pink hotel

just six weeks before the mother found out she was 

pregnant.

At 5 years old he was allowed to meet the Houston

family. He knew all their names, knew that James Sr.

had been an alcoholic, recalling intimate details

of James Houston’s boyhood. The 85 year old sister

sent little James a box of her brother’s things. It

contained a model of a Corsair; sniffing it, he said:

It smells like an aircraft carrier,

and it did have a slight oder of diesel oil.

At 6 years old he was taken to a Natoma Bay

crew reunion, and he recognized many of them,

recalling their names & exploits.

At 8 years old a Japanese production company

paid to fly the family to Iwo Jima, and James

recognized the exact spot where Houston’s plane

had crashed. In tears, he stood up in the long boat,

saluted the spot, said his good-byes, and finally

let Houston go. 

I believe there is a sweetness to this tale,

a bright ray of genuine hope, glad that some

of us can accept it as truth, even though others

condemn it as delusion, as demonic fairy tale.

The truth is out there,

regardless. 

Glenn Buttkus

September 2013

Posted over on dVerse Poets Poetics

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