Recently I packed my son, my dog and myself for a little day hike, not too far from home and not too far from a juice and smoothie place afterwards. It was not too long of a hike and not too difficult, so I thought we’d bop in and out and have the whole afternoon ahead of us.
We started out with full water bottles and excitement. We had a hammer in my back pack for the boulder field that would ring, if struck just right. We found said field, and my not yet 5 year old was loving the excuse to hammer rocks, and my pooch was loving a hike and I was loving the sunlit forest.
We scampered back on the trail (which was wide) and followed it as it contorted into a more rocky and a bit steeper experience. We were easily turning the curve downhill, when I registered people at the bottom. In our hiking etiquette, Aaron and I pulled over to the side to let them ascend. That’s when I began to register, the exhausted and pained looks on the both mom faces and my eyes saw an eleven year old girl, holding onto the rock, standing on one leg, with two other children in tow.
“Do you need help?” I land.
“I broke my leg,” the eleven year old answers.
I drop my backpack and scamper down the hill, and introduce myself. I mention that I am familiar with body injuries, although I am not a doctor and I am very willing to help. I think the calm and outside energy, and honestly the extra hands were welcomed. I tried to carry her on my back, but could not manage. So I wrapped my arm around her waist, with her arm around my neck and I buttressed her as she hopped one-legged up hill.
I don’t know if the leg was broken, but it was very obvious she was not able to put any weight on it and for the ensuing 20 or so minutes of hopping and resting, she would have her mom hold the leg compressively as she rested. So, not good.
My son and the other little boy ran off to the field of boulders to play. The third child alternated between them and helping us, which was right where her age landed her—halfway between little child and teen.
The eleven year-old was magnificent. So was her mom and her other aunty. Everyone working together. I drafted a young man to help us so we had four strong adults that meant once we were back on flat and not rocky land we could alternate carrying her and saving her from the hopping back to the car and the ER. Did I mention they were camping and how their whole weekend of vacation had changed?
“It was supposed to just be a little camping jaunt before soccer camp started,” her mom explains.
But that is not what this story is about per-say. On one of the hopping breaks, I decided to run ahead and see if there was any outside help in the parking lot (which was not terribly far when alone and running). I saw a pickup truck with some sort of environmental logo on it. I ran up to the woman inside with her windows up, and motioned for her to roll them down. She was not pleased.
“Hi, a child has broken her leg and we are trying to get her out, can you drive you truck to help the mom?”
“I’m not legally allowed to drive back there.”
I thought she didn’t hear me so I repeat, “No, a child, a little girl, broke her leg. It’s taking two adults to carry her — your car can fit over the entry rocks—”
“See, I’m not legally allowed..” she moves her had in a way that brushes away human compassion.
“It is a child,” I say in a voice that is stone and Philly, voice that says it all of what I think of her legal cowardice and walk away.
But I have a thought. I spin on my heel, catch her eye, so she sees me take a picture of her: How are we doing making you feel safe? inquiry and phone number on the back of her vehicle, and hold her eye as I walk away. If she wants to hide behind semantics, fine.
It is very easy, superficially, to hide behind what is legally allowed, or what the computer will let you do, or what your job has asked of you, or how you need to just stay under the radar, but we as a collective (which we are whether we are in denial of that fact or not) need to understand that the tides of opportunity change, and we would hope that when it comes to your child, any child, we would brandish together a response that was worthy of our humanity, and not the slippery pallor of air conditioned conveinece, or social media pontificating while we can no longer muster a smile and a hello for our neighbor or the poor UPS man that seems to be constantly running.
At end of our walk, which took three times longer than I anticipated and I apologized to my son that the juice bar might not be open, but our plans had to change, he replied easily, “Yeah, because we had to help that girl.”
His answer made me beam— of course. I was proud of what he has learned. As I walk with him and we recounted the day and where we could find a refreshing smoothies, I was also reminded that kindness is innate and complacency and cruelty are taught. Let’s be attentive to our curriculum.
Love,
Your fellow human being
You can pre-order Rebirth in e-book here.