@ porter sq, a young father with a little blond haired blue eyed boy no more than three years old. the father is one of those young geeky types: trim build, spikey hair, thin wire glasses.
the boy, all smiles in the high end stroller. the father sits, begins doting and chatting to his son.
a bouquet of a dozen red roses and baby’s breath in the under-stroller storage area. a “happy mother’s day” decorative wand in the middle of the velvety red blooms. from the stroller handle dangles a pink and orange striped gift bag, the word MOM across the front. the O is a decorative paper daisy with a button in the center.
@ harvard sq, an old man sits next to them, complimenting the mid-30s father on his sweet boy. they chat casually, a sideways conversation to each other, all the while looking continuously at the smiling boy. i can’t make out what they’re saying; i’m listening to ludakris on my ipod.
@ central, they leave. the old man scoots into the still warm seat.
@ charles mgh, i glance at the night-lit boston skyline along the charles. the day i stop craning my neck towards this serene view is the day i know it’s time to leave boston.
Miri,
Hope you and the man are well — any chance we’ll catch you over the summer in DC?
Hi Miriam,
I can relate, in that I sort of stare in fascination at families with young children, at moms and dads with their kids, and it all seems so normal, so effortless, like it all just happened without all the extra decisions, difficulties and worries we go through…