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It has indeed been many moons since I first saw the crossing guard guide children across Roberts Lane into Beardsley School. I drive by him each morning on my way to work, often being stopped by that red light at Roberts and Airport to let the children cross the street ever so slowly in complete un-anticipation of the school day ahead of them. But amongst all those small and sullen faces is the crossing guard. A gentleman who appears to be in his sixties, although I’d imagine he is probably older without looking a day over fifty.
Why do I feel it necessary to speak of this individual? Because he perplexes me so. He perplexes me on a daily basis. He perplexes me in a way that makes me look inside myself, and I am rarely willing to do that. He perplexes me because every time I see him, and exaggeration is not an option with this story, every time I see him, he is grinning from ear to ear. I often find myself at that stop light watching...
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