Tuesday, August 6, 2013


I walked into a grocery store the other day. An SUV sat in the handicap parking right outside the door, the music turned up so loud the whole vehicle seemed to be throbbing. A bearded man sat in the front seat listening to (incongruously) techno-music.

In the back seat, two children screamed, "Turn it down, Dad!" over and over. The bearded man in the front seat sat stone faced, making no reply as if they were not even in the car.

It breaks my heart, to see children matter so little to their parents.

I picked up bread, and Tim's Pepsi, and I wondered, "Is this child abuse? Should I call someone?" When I went back outside, the vehicle was gone.

I put the groceries away in my car, feeling bad in my heart, and comforting myself with visions of little William scrambling out of his wagon, running full tilt for the teeter totters at the playground, calling "High inna sky, high inna sky!"

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