A Little Boy and His Guardian, Seen at a Laundromat in Brooklyn

A small, brown skinned boy, maybe age 6, with bright eyes and a soft looking, curly fro, held hands with his guardian as they entered the laundromat.

Above their masks, they had the same shape to their dark brown eyes and the way they interacted made me think of strong, comforting mothers and initially shy, but gently spirited, inquisitive sons.

As she loaded up the washing, he sat on a stool next to her, playing with the door of the machine, alternating between watching her and glancing around the long expanse of room.

When she poured in the liquid detergent, he stretched up to see; his shoes on the tiny ledge jutting out from the platform supporting the row of washers. When she visited the change machine, he turned around on the stool. Wherever she went, without fail, his eyes followed.

When she finished loading up the machine, they had to walk past me to access the tiny backyard of the laundromat.

The temperature was muggy inside as well as out, but Mother Nature was providing a little relief through the caress of a warm breeze.

“Good morning”, the guardian said, making eye contact as she passed. “Good morning”, I responded in kind. Then, looking at the young boy, I said, “Hello!” “Hello!” came his reply; bright in tone to match the sweet smile I could feel him gifting me behind his mask.

Moments later, the guardian came back in, picked up the stool and exited again.

Through the window, I saw her sitting on a section of the yard’s rock ledge boundary. He was back on the stool, his attention now on something on her phone. They were the only ones in the yard, and over time, I heard him laugh, refer to her as, “Mom”, and even sing a tune whose lyrics were too low for me to make out.

But as relaxed as he seemed out there, every time his mom came back into the Laundromat, he would get up from the stool, stand near the entryway and lean a little (or a lot) to keep her in his line of sight.

And each time she returned to him, he grew more sweetly animated; confident and comfortable in the spotlight of her presence.

A Smile and a Wave, Seen from a Bus in Brooklyn

The bus was rather full by the time I staked my claim on a poll; several other passengers yet to board behind me.

 
As I stood, waiting for the bus to resume its journey, outside, making their way up the sidewalk, I saw a young one seated in a carriage pushed by her guardian. Seconds after noticing the little one, I watched her eyes glance to her left and dip down towards the ground. Then, she smiled and as she looked back up towards the direction the carriage was headed in, she gave a solitary wave of her left hand; the fingers tilted to the right, then led by her pinkie in a slow unfolding fan-like gesture from right to left.

Intrigued, I found myself wondering if she had been recollecting something or was, perhaps, caught up in a daydream or engaged in some inner play; the way some young ones can sometimes be.

Then seconds later, I saw a pigeon. A pigeon who would have been in her line of sight when she had initially glanced down. And in that moment, while the child and guardian continued on, I had a download of certainty that the smile and wave that followed in the wake of the little girl’s glance, had been for this particular pigeon.

And that realization made me smile.

Honor the Wholeness of You

The parts of you that you, or others, make wrong for speaking up, is in need of your compassion. 

 

You have every right to speak up for yourself, every right to advocate for fairness, wellness, kindness, wholeness, respect.  By the way, I don’t agree with the opinion that respect must be earned.  I think respect should be a given right from the start and then, from there, one’s continued actions and words determine how things unfold.  

 

But back to speaking up and not joining the detrimental chorus that tempts you into shrinking yourself, entertaining thoughts of, “That’s what you get for speaking up.  That’s what you get for advocating for yourself.”

 

You have every right to speak up and if, in the aftermath, you are tempted to shrink, I implore you instead to address the part of yourself that spoke up in the first place.  To the part that communicated either through feelings or thoughts, say, “Thank you for speaking up.  Thank you for letting me know something didn’t feel right and needed addressing.  When we were kids, sometimes or many times, we couldn’t give voice to that which didn’t sit well with us.  Or if we did, sometimes or many times, someone we trusted, sometimes an adult, was unable to honor our feelings.  But I’m the adult now, so keep communicating with me and I promise to listen, and to keep speaking up for us.”

 

Even if you’re tempted to shrink because you made an error in judgement. Thank the part of you that was trying to do good by you.  Acknowledge that underlying the words or actions you took was a desire to take loving care of yourself, acknowledge that you now realize that you’ve made an error in judgement or an error in your execution and, from this place of awareness and honesty, move forward, alongside any necessary external amends, with conscious self-talk & actions steadily nurturing self-compassion.

 

Ultimately, all this is to say, honor the wholeness of you.  Feeding feelings of shame from yourself or others doesn't support the wholeness of you.  And even if you made a mistake, when you realize this, the wholeness of you benefits from your acknowledgment and your gentle compassion with yourself as you now take slow, deliberate steps towards living into a more conscious you.

 

Cheering. You. On.

More on the Topic of Kindness; Seen in Brooklyn

Always be kind whenever you can.  It’s true that not everyone will acknowledge it, but if you’re drawn to shine your beautiful inner light via a gesture of kindness, please do. 

 

Today, I watched a guardian loudly reprimand her young charge for holding the door open for others.  I didn’t see the young boy when he and his guardian came through the store’s entrance.  I didn’t notice how many people he had held the door open for or how many had acknowledged his kindness.  I only noticed the duo when his guardian was standing a few feet away from me, looking back at the boy who was still holding the door open several feet away from where she stood.  I wouldn’t have noticed them had she not spoken so loudly, calling out to him, saying he shouldn’t be holding the door open because people didn’t appreciate his efforts.  Maybe she had watched him for a bit and saw that while he held the door open, the customers who entered hadn’t acknowledged him.  Maybe she was remembering times when she had proffered kindness and also wasn’t acknowledged.  Maybe she just wanted to move on with their shopping.  Maybe all of the aforementioned.  Maybe not.  Truth is, one truly never knows what others are carrying (ancestral, familial, personal) and navigating (again, ancestral, familial, personal). 

 

I wanted to say something to the boy as I watched him and the bewildered expression on his face as he followed her into the store’s elevator.  But he was too far away and I didn’t want him to get an additional talking to from his guardian for keeping her waiting.  I wanted to tell him thank you for feeling inclined to hold the door open for others.  I wanted to tell him that while his guardian was correct that some folks wouldn’t acknowledge it (for a variety of reasons), it didn’t take away from the kindness of the gesture.  I wanted to tell him that it was always the right decision to proffer gestures of kindness if one felt inclined.  

 

I sincerely hope he continues to feed the inclination to be kind. And, despite her statement today, I sincerely hope that, throughout their lives ahead, they’re both on the receiving end of many gestures of kindness.

Kindness. Seen on a Bus in Brooklyn.

Thank you to the man on the Downtown B41 local bus yesterday. 

 

As we were pulling up to the bus stop, you, too, saw the older woman with a cane, slowly making her way on the sidewalk. 

 

You, too, saw her notice the bus, stop for a rest, and then begin walking again. 

 

You, too, must have sensed that while there had been no change in her speed, she was moving as fast as was able to. 

 

You were sitting at the front of the bus and I was standing towards the middle, holding on to one of the poles.  You got up and pulled down the set of seats directly across from you.  Those seats are often folded up when someone in a wheelchair needs that area.  But sometimes, when the passenger on the wheelchair has exited, the seats aren’t returned to the regular position.  After pulling down the seats, you returned to yours.  By this point, the bus driver had stopped, opened the door and the lady with the cane was about to get on.  Except she couldn’t climb the steps.  She tried a few times and just as I felt myself being drawn to make my way to the front of the bus, you stood up and asked her if she would like some assistance.  She said she did.  And so, you helped her get on and she slowly made her way to the area of seats you had pulled down moments before. 

 

Good on you! 

 

Thank you for pulling down the seats.  Thank you for asking the lady if she would like to be assisted.  Thank you for assisting her. Thank you for caring. 

 

I watched you for sometime and when you eventually made eye contact with me, I had to give you the thumbs up.  Behind your mask, I felt you smiling as you waved your hand in thanks. 

 

What you did was lovely. 

 

I’m still thinking of you today and I am wishing you all the very best.