Standing on the bus during the final leg of my after work commute, when we stopped at the light, I watched a little boy and his guardian cross the street.
The little boy looked to be around three and his left hand was securely held in that of his male guardian’s. In his right hand, peeking through the tight huddle of four of his fingers, there appeared to be a tiny toy vehicle, while the fifth finger—the index— pointed at my bus. And as he moved, as he was being guided by his guardian, his pointing altered slightly to match the magnet of his attention that was the bus.
Eyes, wide, he never looked away.
Even when his guardian addressed him, the boy continued staring and his finger continued pointing.
The guardian noticed and while he did speak to the little boy as he led him safely across the street— in a manner acknowledging that he, too, saw the bus—, he didn’t appear to rush him or come across as impatient.
When the bus began to move, the last I saw of them, they’d made it to the sidewalk and stopped. And the little boy was still wide eyed, still innocently staring and pointing.