From mothers to fathers

In my new tradition of adding up the bus numbers I ride each day, today would be a zero. Why ride when the sun is out and your destinations are close enough to walk to? (And yes, to the many friends I have talked into walking somewhere with me, I realize that “close” is a subjective word.)

As much as I love beautiful days like this, they always make me think of people who can’t enjoy them–specifically, people in prisons and hospitals. Maybe it’s because of the war, or what my mother has been going through lately.

Maybe it’s because of that sunny day almost exactly two years ago, when I sat across from an adorable three-year old boy on the ride up James from 3rd Avenue. He was standing on the seat next to his mother, pointing out trees, birds, and everything else he could identify. When we passed the jail, he started jumping up and down and waving frantically out the window. Then, at the top of his lungs, he hollered:

“Hi Daddy!”

I’m still recovering.

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