To all the neighborhood school kids back home,
I didn’t grow up like you. I lived out in the country. It was lovely and all, but it was a twenty-minute drive into town. I didn’t leave the house to go out with friends, or hop on my bike and cruise the streets. Never did I run on over to the grocery store to pick up the forgotten milk, nor did I ever stand on a box and gather the area ruffians so that we might unite into a small gang. I never did such things, and while it’s plain to see I’ve dreamt of such a childhood, never have I wished for anything differently than what I have.
And neither should you.
I’ve started walking two little girls home from school, and shoot is it a privilege to be able to make such a venture. It’s hot, and I hear all of the young students complain about the sun, and the hills, and their bags and such, but goodness! I’m beaming all the while. I feel as though I’m living that small-town American dream, that one that was lost long ago, do you know? That time when kids skipped over to the corner store to buy a pop off of Old Man Jenkins and when they played marbles out in the streets until the cars came by and dispersed the evidence of their games.
It’s easy to want what one does not have, and while we ought to never tire in our efforts to constantly better ourselves in the light of Christ, we must never forget the simplest and most special of gifts.
— like walking to school, or to work, or to the grocery store.
So, thank you, Alice and Lizzie, for allowing me such a gift as the simple walk home.