My morning walks contain a cast of characters who pass it in out each morning.  Every now and then, a new face appears for a day or two and then I wonder where he or she has gone.  This morning, I think I scared a Hispanic man of about the same age as me.  I was walking rather briskly up a hill in his direction.  He cast several apprehensive glances in my direction as I started to overtake him.  I’m not sure why he may have been worried about my little self, unless he thought I was an INS agent, deep undercover as an approaching middle aged woman out for her morning walk.  As I passed him, he smiled broadly and said, “Good morning.”  He didn’t answer when I said, “How are you.”  I recognized him from last years summer walks, when I would often see him coming from the opposite direction on a different street.  Maybe he’ll be there tomorrow, or perhaps not.

Then, there is the gaggle of high school students waiting for the bus.  Yesterday morning there was a group of girls, one of them vocally saying, “I don’t care if she talks to him of course, but she doesn’t need to talk to him like *I* talk to him, because…” and I didn’t hear anything else.  It’s easy to surmise that she was talking about a boy friend and some other girl trying to hone in on her territory.  I remember seeing some of the same behavior when I was in high school.  It would seem the stakes are always high in teenage romantic relationships.  There is the boy with the longish hair and the black heavy metal themed tee shirt.  Today, it was Megadeth themed.  The metal heads listened to Megadeth when I was in high school.  I suppose some things remain timeless…nothing is new under the sun, I suppose.

Then there is the Hispanic girl I’ve seen for the past two mornings.  She is always dressed perfectly, every hair in place, face made up perfectly with her “daytimer” spilling out of one of her bags.  Her outer veneer exudes confidence, yet there is still something of the little girl I feel in her countenance.  Part of her knows, as we adults know when we dress and accessorize as she does, that we are only playing at grownups.  Many a time I’ve dressed well for others, when I what I really wanted was to wear flip flops and a floppy hat.  Further down the road is an older hispanic woman who greatly resembles this girl.  Her brow is furrowed as she walks briskly in the direction of the bus stop. 

Yesterday, I turned to watch the scene unfold. She simply watched her daughter get on the bus and then turned to walk away.  Her daughter (I assume) did not acknowledge her presence.  It is a moment tender and full of heart break.  The girl wants her independence and her mother wants to know she is safe as she steps away.  I feel the same every time my daughter releases my hand runs ahead of me when we take a walk together.  This is just a rehearsal, I think to myself, just a rehearsal for the time when she lets go for the last time.  We both need to learn how to let go by degrees.

God bless…