I saw a taxi at Dakota's school today. It pulled up to the grass
rather than a sidewalk and a sad looking boy was ejected from the
vehicile. No jacket, No backpack. He turned to look for... Goodbye?
Have a good day? Some sort of recognition that he wasn't just a
shipment. But the cab already pulled away. Resigned, he trudged
across the dewy grass. His socks will be wet and I can see his breath.
The temperature this morning is what us content suburban types call "crisp"
I find myself incurious about what happened. I heard enough from
Eugene and Louren to know that sad situations aren't just elsewhere.
They are here, too. But... Damnit, Couldn't the cab at least brought him
to the school door? Why the walk of shame?
The kid's got the countenance of a 4th grader; last traces of baby fat
being replaced by grown-up fast food fat. Whatever vunerability his
expression and posture betrayed before are replaced with every step he takes towards the school by a
mendacious scowl.
Is this the bully who kicks Dakota"s wheeled
backpack? If he is, I won't hesitate to demand that the school protect
Dakota from him.
My exit approaches. I still need to drop off the boy. I am crazy late
for work. Not so late not to hug jason all the way to his room, talk
to his teacher for a moment, and then leave when jason is eating or
playing. Its never too late to do that.
--
Sent from Gmail for mobile | mobile.google.com
