The apparent point of controversy is about his future: Should he remain in the United States with aunts and uncles, where he’d certainly have a richer life? Or is it right for him to be reunited with his only surviving parent, even though that means he’ll return to the place his mother died trying to escape?

But it’s obvious to all that this isn’t just another custody battle; it has metamorphosed into the latest Cold War conflict. The boy is now a symbol, an icon. There’s more at stake than a small boy’s future; the pride of nations and ideological victory is on the table. I’m sure Elian understands.

For some reason, his fate reminded me of another family and child that I heard and wrote about several years ago. Their story had nothing to do with communism and capitalism or immigration policy. It had to do with life and death, and it might have been about abortion. But although they could have, this family didn’t become poster people for a cause.

A co-worker of mine knew a young couple that was expecting their first child, but there were problems. After a hard, painful pregnancy during 1993, the wife went into daylong labor in December and delivered their child. But less than an hour after the birth, the child died. The baby was anencephalic, born with only a rudimentary brain stem.

The amazing, baffling thing is that the parents had known for months that it would go that way. Doctors discovered the condition early in the pregnancy, and they predicted the baby would live a few hours after birth at most. There was no chance the child would live, no hope his condition would change.

Together, the couple’s pro-life minister and doctors tried to relieve them of any burden of guilt they might feel if they chose to abort the child. The mother and father discussed their options and decided to keep the baby.

During the pregnancy, the mother continued to work at her office job, but she told only a few of her colleagues about the frail life growing inside her. She kindly acknowledged the good wishes and gentle joking from her other colleagues, but she didn’t say anything to them, knowing how awkward things would get. How does one answer an expectant mother who says she is carrying a child who’s bound to die within hours? And who can imagine the sting she felt each time someone innocently kidded her about being a first-time mother or blithely chatted about the joys of watching her baby grow up?

Later, after the child had been born and had died, the mother’s co-workers found out she had known the outcome all along. They felt sad, naturally, but also inspired. They talked about her character and strength in quietly carrying not only a child but also the knowledge of her child’s fate. Like most of us, her co-workers were people, religious or not, who usually thought more about the things of life than about the meaning of life itself. But they were compelled to talk about a young couple whom, they assumed, had been shopping for a crib rather than a casket. Many of them didn’t understand the couple’s decision, especially with the options available, but all agreed on one thing: Their friend and her husband must love life dearly, and they must revere the Creator of life greatly.

When I first heard this story, the abortion battle seemed hotter than it is even now. It was the same year that David Gunn, an abortion provider, had been shot to death in Florida, the first of several stupid, evil murders committed in the name of the pro-life cause. Gunn, of course, was consecrated by some as a pro-choice martyr and demonized by others an amoral villain. Part of what got lost was that the man grew up in a Church of Christ in Kentucky and never told his family what he did for a living. Sadly, that pattern has been repeated a few times since then.

What struck me at the time was that this couple could have been pressed into service as heroes in the abortion wars. Their story could easily have been transformed into a rallying cry for pro-life causes. Imagine the book deals.

But for some reason, that didn’t happen. There was no hint that the mother carried her baby to full term as some sort of pro-life statement. She and her husband didn’t go through a very personal version of hell for a cause. They endured it for a child: They simply wanted to love the baby God gave them, no matter how brief their time together. That’s all. The irony, of course, is that by their quiet devotion and willingness to suffer for their child, this couple could not have testified more powerfully to the people who knew them about the value of life.

But then there’s Elian Gonzalez, a boy who certainly didn’t choose to become an icon. Maybe it’s inevitable that in the middle of social conflicts, ordinary people are transformed into symbols, icons to inspire crusaders and other culture warriors. We seem to need them.

I realize there are important geopolitical issues at stake. I know that two governments and two large Cuban communities are wrestling over him. I know that if Elian returns to Cuba, he may wind up as little more than a trophy for Castro, a prop for an evil regime. I know that his staying in the United States may upset our nation’s entire immigration policy and unimaginably complicate U.S-Cuban relations for years. Elian stands in for all that. He may grow up to be the last great symbol of the Cold War.

For now, however, there stands a little boy waiting to see where he will live and who will take care of him. If only as much attention were being paid to him as to the icon.