Friday, February 6, 2009
Have you ever sensed that the road of life has turned a corner? It's a knowing, the way you know when you've witnessed something beautiful, or met someone special who touched your heart, like the shopkeeper in my last post.
Sometimes our corners are sad, and catapult us down the road a ways on a grief detour. Sometimes they're introspective, and help us to evaluate our priorities and goals. Sometimes they make us grin, for the sheer joy of grinning.
And sometimes, like the corner I rounded recently, they make us realize that time marches steadily on. Maybe we're not as young as we think or feel.
I was coming out of a store, about to head across a parking lot entry lane to my car, when a boy stopped me. I'd chatted with him briefly just seconds before, as I checked out with my stuff. He was about to turn ten, and I patted him on the back and said how I remembered my first double-digit birthday.
So he steps up to me and says, "Let me help you across the street."
The kid wanted to help me across the street, as in, "May I help you cross the road, you sweet little ol' lady, you?"
Yep. That's what he meant. And he took it a step further. He actually stepped out into the road, held up his hand like a well-trained Boy Scout, and stopped traffic. For me.
So I did what any little old lady would do (did I mention I'm still in my fifties--not exactly ancient, but not in the hoola hoop stage anymore). I slipped my hand around his carefully crooked arm and let him lead me to my car. Thanked him profusely, wished him a happy birthday again, and collapsed in a hysterical heap behind my steering wheel.
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*Image via Wikipedia