Scenes from Sundays

I'm at the intersection of home and ghetto. Boulevard is the fastest way to where I'm going and involves the least amount of traffic lights. The speed limit is always higher in the ghetto. It's the street where I witnessed my first B and E. ("Did you call the cops?" "No, but I called my friends.") It's also the street where I was five minutes too late for the stabbing in front of the Family Dollar. I saw the tail end involving police reports and a stretcher being loaded into the ambulance.

At the intersection a sign demonstrates the street's priorities: "Lotto and Groceries." At the bus stop a homeless lady sleeps with her shopping cart next to her. These are not unusual sights and I've become desensitized to images that normally haunt other people.

Still waiting for the light to change, I catch a glimpse of a man in the gas station parking lot across the street. A large black man dressed in a cream colored linen suit. Linen has always impressed me because of the cost of the fabric and its propensity for wrinkles. It's not something you can just throw on, it takes time and preparation to wear linen. His suit was still pressed and didn't have a wrinkle in sight. In one hand he was carrying a Bible. In the other he was holding his son's hand, guiding him down the street.

I checked the time, church must be out. It wasn't him carrying the Bible that got to me, it was him holding his son's hand. However both sights are very rare for this street.

***

Leaving the dog park, I still had to cross the entire width of Piedmont Park. Nikita was on the verge of collapsing from the heat. Her tail, an accurate gauge to her energy level, was at half mast. The path curved and we saw a mud puddle and an empty big wheel to one side of the puddle. In the grass stood a man holding a leash to a very small dog. Wrapped around his leg was the man's son, obviously upset. The man was murmuring to his son while pushing his hand through the son's blonde hair. As we approached, I heard what the man was quietly telling his son:

"You don't worry about your shoes. We can always clean them when we get home. I think playing in the mud puddle would be much more fun. Don't you think? Don't worry about your shoes, I'll take care of that. You play in the mud puddle."

The small boy unwrapped himself from his father's leg and walked out into the middle of the puddle.

"That's it!" The father encouraged, "Now jump up and down!" The boy jumped once and made a small splash. His once white tennis shoes were now brown. "Don't stop at one! Really have at it!" the father continued.

I passed the pair and I smiled. Thank God for Sundays.