I was walking down Madison Avenue here in Covington this afternoon when a little boy and his mother came up from behind me. Holding his mother’s hand, the little boy was excited about my cane.
“Look at his cane, Mom!” he yelled. “It’s got feet!”
“It’s a quad cane,” I said looking at him smiling. “I need more than my own two feet these days.”
“I like it!” the little boy said. He was a cute little thing, probably four or five years old.
His mother was looking for a mailbox to mail a letter. I told her you’ll run into one sooner or later.
The mother and her son walked beside me for a while, then the little boy took by left hand. There we were walking—me and the mother with the little boy between us—all holding hands.
“You shouldn’t be holding his hand like that,” the mother told the boy. “You don’t even know him.” She didn’t say it in a mean way, but I knew what she meant.
A few seconds later, they turned down another street not saying goodbye. It’s was OK—they didn’t know me.
I continued on my walk thinking about the last time I held a child’s hand, probably was my son’s when he was four or five—over 25 years ago. Time passes by quickly.
Feeling a little sad, I wished I had asked the little boy his name. I hope the mother found a mailbox.
(Photo from dailymail.co.uk)