The L train this morning.

9:45 a.m.

Two cute kids, boys, sitting next to me.

I waved (raised palm) at the boy next to me, on my left. “Hi, good morning,” I said.

He smiled and said something.

“Where are you going?” I asked.

“Madison Square Garden.”

“For what?”

“To see the Harlem Globe Trotters.”

“Wow! They’re still playing? I used to see them as a kid [a fact which doesn’t interest or impress my interlocutor].”

No response.

(I’m not sure what I actually did say. I never did see the Globetrotters play, as a spectator.)

“They’re a lot of fun,” I said.

No response, at first, then the boy said, “It’s for my birthday.”

“How old are you?”

“Nine.” Said in a flat tone, without inflection, as if it were no big deal.

And, indeed, at this age, while having a birthday is certainly fun and exciting, the fact of what one’s age is is not an important one.

And life is taken and experienced as it occurs.

 

— Roger W. Smith

  December 27, 2019