Every morning on my bus ride into work, a woman gets on at Penn Avenue and stands at the window to watch an eight-year-old-looking boy standing on the opposite corner who must be her son. She watches until she can't see him any longer, waving the whole time, then goes to find a seat.
I assume that the boy is waiting for a school bus and that the woman is on her way to work. But I often wonder: How must it feel to live your child on a street corner every morning, hoping he makes it to school safely? Granted, it's 8 in the morning and the streets at that time are pretty well populated with school kids and commuters, but still. If I don't see my cats for more than a half-hour walking around the house or know where they're sleeping, I always search for them. Sadly, we have inadvertently locked the cats in the foyer, between the screen door and the kitchen door (a very small space...poor Grubble!), in closets, and outside before, so I am constantly concerned that they're safe and well. I can only imagine how it would feel to leave my young child to essentially fend for himself on a busy city street every workday morning.
4 years ago
