This morning, as per my normal practice, I walked my wife out to the parking lot to her car. Again as always, I warned her to be safe which she thinks I’m referring to her driving habits, but deep down I’m reciting a prayer that I say every morning that begs that no harm comes to her during her time teaching with the second and third graders at a north side elementary school. Second and third graders! What kind of harm can come from that age group other than the occasional spit ball! It’s not the children I fear, although, some of them are pretty tough, it’s the children’s parents that scare me. I’ve heard too many stories of these children’s parents speaking and acting violently while drooping off or picking up kids from the school. I mouthed the words “I love you” as she drove away.
I decided that I would take a morning walk and in doing so stop down the block at the college pavilion and grab a cup of coffee. As I walked pass the alleyway lined with jolly green dumpsters on my way to Saginaw street, I spotted a man in a raggedy, torn coat and gloveless hands rummaging through the garbage, possibly looking for bottles or some discarded delicacies thrown out by the upscale restaurant that fronted the building. I kept walking.
Turning the corner onto the main street, I took in the cars parked along the brick covered road, patiently waiting for their owners to return to them from their workday or early morning errands. People walked hurriedly along the sidewalks, ladies in fashion smart jackets, men in overcoats covering their suits and ties, each grasping at the collars of their clothing, closing tight the gap between the openings of fabric to help keep the cold breeze off their throats.
I made my way into the warmth of the food court and bee lined to the coffee counter. Is there any sound or smell better than the pouring of your first cup of coffee of the day? After payment and a quick “how you doing” to the cafe proprietor, I took my first sip of the warm, light brown liquid. I like mine with rich, heavy cream, lots of it.
My mobile phone rings, it’s the furniture company telling me they’re on their way to deliver our new living room furniture, a Christmas present between my wife and myself.
I make my way back home, but along the way I’m stopped by one of the local pan handlers. I see the guy most every day, nice enough fellow. He has a mental condition that has kept him from working a “normal” job for the last fifteen years. It’s been my routine to give him the return deposit bottles that accumulate in our bin after dinner parties or mixers. I notice that the coat he’s wearing is too thin for this cold weather and make a mental note that I need to stop by the Salvation Army or Goodwill to pick him up a warmer one. I give him a dollar. He thanks me and wishes me “Happy Holidays”.
Christmas season is here; the season of noticeable contrast.
Ho Ho Ho!
