Indeed, it is the little things.
As the world burns, a little boy shares waterIt's late afternoon. One of those days last week that was sticky like summer, and I'm walking dogs.
Sweating.
Tired from a long day of ... whatever this is. Shirt stuck to back, head spinning with news. If it is even news.
Seems more like arson, because the world is burning.
In Washington they're fighting over Russia, and in Montgomery they argue about monkeys, and bananas, and it's bananas. Nobody bends and nobody wins but bought-and-paid-for politicians who turn us one against the other to profit from the very fears they peddle.
Like old fish.
Up ahead of me there's a man, working in a neighbor's yard. He's a tall man, a white man, a man approaching middle age but not quite there. He's full of energy, whistling and edging the lawn of a neighbor with a loud and powerful machine. He has all the equipment of a pro, all the purpose of a man with a job to do and another one to get to when he's done here.
I cross the street with my dogs. All three of them. Because rocks will fly and dogs will bark and I don't want to deal.
Besides, I'm busy thinking the worst.
Of politics and of people. Of media that helped make this mess of America. Of myself and a world where kindness and generosity seem like quaint traditions. Where civility is a 20th century concept.
Politicians campaign on keeping people out, not bringing them together. Building a wall is the architecture of progress.
Then a door opens. Not at the house where the man is working, but next door. A little kid, Hispanic, steps out.
I've seen him before, playing with his dog, or his soccer ball. He is perhaps 10, I don't know. He has asked me about my dogs before, but I do not know his name. I just think of him as that kid up the street. The one who is always smiling.
This day -- this hot, miserable day -- I walk my dogs on the opposite side of the street. I'm not watching. Not on purpose. Just seeing.
The boy come off his porch and trots, bounces really, next door to the yard man. He just stands there, patiently, holding something behind his back until the roar of the edger dies and the man looks up. He is surprised to see a little boy in front of him.
"Well hello," the man says.
"Hi," says the boy, smiling.
From behind his back the boy pulls a big bottle of water. You can see the condensation on it from across the street, so you know it's cold. He holds it out for the man. Just like the kid from the Coca-Cola commercial with Mean Joe Greene.
The man is taken aback. For a moment.
It is such a moment. Rare and sort of beautiful.
I'm walking on, with my dogs. But I can't get it out of my head.
I wonder what it means. In a cosmic sense. In a geopolitical sense. What do I make of this Hispanic boy and this white yard man in a world in which politicians use our differences to divide us, in which stereotypes rule us, in which the internet tells us constantly of all the ways we are different?
I do not know the answer. I just know two people, on a hot day, shared a moment of kindness.
It doesn't mean anything.
It means everything.
http://www.al.com/opinion/index.ssf/201 ... river_home