Last week, as I was leaving an evening class exhausted and focused on the traffic I was going to face on the way home, I came to a crosswalk. The cars flew by, guided by a student wearing a neon yellow vest and waving a glowing red baton.
I stood, slightly impatient at the hold up with a dozen other students, waiting for the cars to come to a halt so we could stop.
All of a sudden, a man in his mid-thirties or maybe early forties ran up, out of breath.
“Excuse me, which way is the Patriot Center?” he asked.
“Just down there,” I said, pointing to my left. The traffic was worse that night because it was one of thirteen nights in which Disney on Ice’s Frozen was taking over the giant facility. Cars backed up for miles just for the chance to see the show.
“Thank you,” he said and started jogging past. “Come on!” he yelled back, waving his hand to herd four little girls in blue faux-silk princess dresses and windbreakers. Like a flock of ducklings they waddled and sped down the sidewalk to catch the opening minutes of the musical.
I could only smile at the father’s dedication and patience, as he fought lines of cars and multitudes of post-class students to get his daughters to the show on time.