The Crossing Lady

Do you suppose the crossing guard lady who is missing half her teeth has had an interesting life? I wonder what brought her to assist our school-age children with crossing a busy street. I see her every morning and sometimes in the afternoon as well.

She's a larger woman who wears sweat-pants, her orange safety vest and carries her STOP sign like a torch handled by some ancient Grecian athlete. I haven't noticed what she wears on her feet, but I do imagine it's something like dark Velcro-closing sneakers from Wal-Mart.

This morning, while she had six or seven children waiting to cross, she was speaking to them about something that was no doubt very important to her. They all looked to be completely enthralled with what she had to say. Was she telling them they shouldn't have run across the side street? Perhaps what she had for dinner last evening? Or maybe she was telling them a tale of when she was a young, beautiful girl with hair like golden thread and teeny little feet that slipped into calf-skin dancing shoes while her dance card remained full every evening.

Do we ever stop to ask or even wonder about all those people around us? The crossing guard, the old guy picking up bananas at the gas station because they are $0.20 cents cheaper than at the grocery store, the lady you see out for her morning walk. I wonder about all their stories. Who lost a loved one early on in life? Who taught children for 35 years? Who drove a truck filled with goods for our stores?

So many stories, so many we'll never have the pleasure of hearing.