Bus Stop Subculture
Today is the first day of school for Rachel - and every other kid in Bethel Park...
It's our first time at a bus stop with other kids...
We see the little girl (and her mom) across the street come outside, so we start heading down the hill. We chat a little on the way down, busy summer, first day of school stuff... A mom and daughter are already at the bottom of the hill (where they live) with a dog. Rachel and Elie go to the dog. Nothing like a beagle to make instant friends...
A dad and his son sit on the opposite curb. I wonder why they aren't coming over...
A couple other moms and kids and another dad and kids show up. There's a lot of catching up. We're not the only new family at the bus stop. What I do in moments like this is withdraw into myself...I kind of get why the dad and son are sitting on the other curb, I guess.
Lori talks with the moms - the kids sort of play together. Rachel really hovers around Lori - the beagle attraction being very brief.
There's a lot of small talk, but nothing substantive. Did I really expect there would be? Are we really going to open our lives up at a bus stop? I guess not. I guess everybody is really withdrawing who they are - most people do so by talking and laughing instead of by being quiet and withdrawn. But we really don't reveal anything to each other.
The bus comes.
There don't seem to be many tears. Rachel is close. Lori is close. But everyone is okay.
Moms and dads and littler kids begin to drift off to the rest of their day. It's a bit of a climb back up the hill for this out of shape dad.
It was an intriguing morning. I'm still processing it.
These are the people I'll see in my neighborhood more than anybody else - so these are the connections we'll begin making. These are the folks in my neighborhood that I'll be praying for the most - and the people that I need to reach out to.
But how do you do that at the bus stop?
EDIT - later today...
I was reading Allan Hamilton's The Scalpel and the Soul and came across this:
...Eventually I was able to walk my kids to the bus stop, more than a block and a half away [after a spine injury]. After standing every day for weeks with the usual moms waiting for the bus, I began to clearly see the world of my children's friends and schoolmates emerging for the first time. I began to learn names. First, those of close friends. Then brothers and sisters. Later, even their dogs, cats and guinea pigs. I realized my whole world had collapsed around my single-minded ambition to become a neurosurgeon. I had passed up a lot of my children's lives. I desperately wanted to change my priorities, as a father and as a physician. (page 53)
It's our first time at a bus stop with other kids...
We see the little girl (and her mom) across the street come outside, so we start heading down the hill. We chat a little on the way down, busy summer, first day of school stuff... A mom and daughter are already at the bottom of the hill (where they live) with a dog. Rachel and Elie go to the dog. Nothing like a beagle to make instant friends...
A dad and his son sit on the opposite curb. I wonder why they aren't coming over...
A couple other moms and kids and another dad and kids show up. There's a lot of catching up. We're not the only new family at the bus stop. What I do in moments like this is withdraw into myself...I kind of get why the dad and son are sitting on the other curb, I guess.
Lori talks with the moms - the kids sort of play together. Rachel really hovers around Lori - the beagle attraction being very brief.
There's a lot of small talk, but nothing substantive. Did I really expect there would be? Are we really going to open our lives up at a bus stop? I guess not. I guess everybody is really withdrawing who they are - most people do so by talking and laughing instead of by being quiet and withdrawn. But we really don't reveal anything to each other.
The bus comes.
There don't seem to be many tears. Rachel is close. Lori is close. But everyone is okay.
Moms and dads and littler kids begin to drift off to the rest of their day. It's a bit of a climb back up the hill for this out of shape dad.
It was an intriguing morning. I'm still processing it.
These are the people I'll see in my neighborhood more than anybody else - so these are the connections we'll begin making. These are the folks in my neighborhood that I'll be praying for the most - and the people that I need to reach out to.
But how do you do that at the bus stop?
EDIT - later today...
I was reading Allan Hamilton's The Scalpel and the Soul and came across this:
...Eventually I was able to walk my kids to the bus stop, more than a block and a half away [after a spine injury]. After standing every day for weeks with the usual moms waiting for the bus, I began to clearly see the world of my children's friends and schoolmates emerging for the first time. I began to learn names. First, those of close friends. Then brothers and sisters. Later, even their dogs, cats and guinea pigs. I realized my whole world had collapsed around my single-minded ambition to become a neurosurgeon. I had passed up a lot of my children's lives. I desperately wanted to change my priorities, as a father and as a physician. (page 53)
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