"To that little boy at the beach, I hope you are safe."

I know school holidays are tough for families but there is one little boy I can’t sop wondering about.

Circumstances like this are NOT acceptable.

I met a boy on the weekend to whom my mind keeps tracking over. I can’t get him out of my head. Like a tic, I just can’t shake.

He had sandy hair and a smile just slightly too toothy. He was shy at first but soon stuck like glue to my children.

They played for awhile, hesitantly at first like kids do, then firm friends within minutes.

I watched you Jayden and the questions my children so freely asked you – ignoring my hushes and shakes of the head – had entered my mind too.

Why were you so small when you said you were a year older than my son?

Why were you so grubby when you had been swimming in the water?

Why were you so chatty?

And where the hell are your parents?

We were at beach on the NSW central coast. The day, a taste of the summer to come. The beach filled with tourists and locals casting off the last of winter. It was hot in the sun but a cool breeze saw the smaller children hiding under towels, hugging the warm sand.

I had taken my kids to the lagoon as the surf was unseasonably rough and I noticed you as soon as we arrived.

It was the swimming vest you wore Jayden, too-small and out of place, more suited to a child half your age.

As I played with my kids and my dogs, you watched from the sand. Not once did you try and remove that flotation device, even though you weren’t in the water.

I could see your eyes watching my dogs from under that dirty blonde fringe.

I could see you building up the courage to ask if you could play too.

When you finally asked what their names were, I smiled.

Murphy and Maggie.

You began to play. You played on the boogie boards in the shallow lagoon water and you happily ate a piece of watermelon from my bag.

“Where’s his Mama?” my three-year-old daughter asked me.

“Why is he by himself?” her five-year-old brother said several times.

After awhile I began to wonder myself.

Why was a seven-and-a-half-year-old boy at the beach by himself?

Why was he wearing a swimming flotation device designed for a much younger child?

Surely, by his age he could swim?

My children began to ask him questions that made me cringe. "Where’s your Mum?" "Cant you swim?"

He just ignored them.

"That’s for babies."  Said my seven-year-old pointing out the swim vest.

“You aren’t seven, you are heaps smaller than me.”

“JASPER,” I reprimanded him as I watched this tiny-stranger hungrily feed himself from my hastily packed tupperwear box of fruit.

But I began to wonder myself.

I couldn’t stop myself looking around.

Where WERE his parents?

I have to admit, I jumped to conclusions.

In about 30 seconds I had constructed a whole life history for him. But the truth was, I simply didn’t know.

"Where’s Mum?" I casually asked.

“Asleep,” he said. “Shall we call her?” I asked realising at the same time I didn’t actually have my phone on me.

“She won’t answer," he replied.

We live in a time where we hover over our children, we stifle their independence and watch their every move, but surely this was not just a mother giving her child some much longed for freedom.

It was hard not to judge – a small boy on the beach alone. I didn’t want to interfere but I felt obliged to.

I asked him if he wanted to show me where he lived, whether we could all walk there together. He just shrugged and continued to play with my kids.

Was it a working mother too busy to look after her son in the school holidays?

Was the swim vest a loving gesture, her small attempt at keeping her child safe?

It is just so unusual to see a seven-year-old boy alone these days for such a long time, that you can’t help but worry.

Just as I began to press him more and to pack up our belongings my chance at finding answers abruptly ended.

For no discernable reason – but perhaps due to my pressing the issue – he took off. Quick as a whip, he was gone.

In the days since, I keep looking out for him. I keep thinking of him. I wonder why and how. I question even if it is any of my business and whether there was something I could have done differently.

Jayden. I hope today you are playing with your family. I hope you are dreading the return to school next week. I hope you are well fed and safe and wrapped up in love.

I know I will never know your story but am sending you strength and courage and happiness little guy.

What would you have done in this situation?

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