I’m on the NYC subway taking the 2 train from downtown Brooklyn to Times Square. It’s a week from Christmas on a Friday night. The man sitting across from me appears to be half-drunk, although I know he isn’t. He is smiling and I see his speech is a direct result of his almost toothless mouth. Still, his words doesn’t always make sense. His mind isn’t altogether and I’m wondering how he got that way. But my heart is breaking for the boy who’s sitting at the very end of the train cart with his hood over his head, slumped over. “Hey, son!” Yells out the almost toothless man. “Take a picture…
Growing up is fun at first, when you’re little you measure how tall you’re getting, how smart you’re becoming & realize soon enough you’ll be the conductor of your own life– you rush your days saying “grown-up” phrases doing “grown -up” things, & ignore the comments that youth are a person’s best days but gradually the bills stack a little higher on the kitchen table, your morning coffee isn’t enough to sustain you throughout the day and all your time has come and go and when grown-up is what you have to be, you finally appreciate what it meant to contain the innocence of a child.