Everyone was a child at some point.
I am an avid activist for equal rights to education for all children. I am also kind of a wanderer when it comes to my free time. Therefore, I wanted to publish this small account and put a small slice of my wandering mind out to the world.
I was at the Civic Center/U.N. Plaza BART station in San Francisco a while back, and I noticed something out of the ordinary.
Allow me to explain the scene.
In that particular station, there are many people out and about either bustling to work or just arriving to catch the next departing train. There are also a lot of homeless people and drug dealers who roam around selling their poison or sit and smoke cigarettes without the slightest care in the world. How do I know this? I sat down in a corner for a while and contemplated life as I usually do at odd times of the day. I like to think about people’s musings and contemplate stories about their lives and chronicle them anonymously in my notebook.
However, this time was different because I saw something that I will never forget. A little girl on a pink tricycle was making her way slowly to the entrance of the BART station when she slowed down and stopped to glance up at her father. Mind you, I rarely see children walk around this part of the city, much less with a tricycle. She came around the corner of my eye, and I froze me in my seat.
Her father, obviously high on something, was talking loudly on the phone to his dealer for his next shipment of drugs to come to him at an unspecified location. “Daddy, look at me! I am riding a tricycle!” she exclaimed as she slowly pedaled her faded vehicle along the dirty concrete. It was getting late, and I had finished my casual set of thoughts. The sun was setting, and I needed to get out. The city isn’t a nice place for strangers such as myself, but something kept me in my seat. As I observed, she approached an older gentleman, whom she called Uncle. This person was also avidly busy at ordering his next set of drugs on an old flip phone.
As she tugs on his worn denim cargo pants she says, ”Hey Uncle, look at how fast I go! Vroom!” The Uncle does not respond at all. He is more engrossed in his musings than engaging with a child. “Uncle, uncle! Look! Look!” she replies as if her only purpose in the world is to be noticed by someone. He doesn't turn. Instead, he glances over and looks at the father and asks, "Any luck yet?"
"Nah, I'm trying bruh." He responds.
Meanwhile, the girl, with a sad look at her face, makes eye contact with me. She has beautiful hazel eyes and only has a couple of teeth in her emerging smile. Someone recognized her, and even if that someone is me, she is happy. I wave back, and I get a dirty look from the father. The father has hazel eyes too, but they're dark and sad. Sad at something or someone.
Then, it hit me.
He was a child once. Just like his daughter, his eyes bloomed like flowers in the abyss of life. He was only a set of dreams at one time. He was once a boy who wanted to be an astronaut, or a scientist, or a firefighter or even a mail carrier. That spark was somehow lost in his eyes as time progressed. The spark of hunger for knowledge, a desire of self-fulfillment, that love for his fellow humans, and himself. He became lost in drugs and helpless in the face of losing his dreams. Now he’s stuck in a cycle of addiction and without any accessibility to a life he might have once had, or dreamed. And he is stuck in Civic Center U.N. Plaza breaking the law, ironically just about a block away from city hall. What happened? I wanted to ask him. What made you into the person who you are? I wanted to shake him eagerly and give him a hug and tell him that he can be better than that!
As I stood up, I see the crowd of people passing on the sidewalk. Now, I know that everyone must have been a child at some point in their lives. They must have gone through some pain, hardship, or even joy and happiness growing up. In whatever circumstances they found themselves in, every little detail, from a candy bar to a family event, changed their lives forever. Wherever they grew up, everything counted. However, something, or somewhere, or someone along the way, became the factor that made them decide they would change for either better or worse.
As he hung up on the phone and picked up his daughter, he patted his acquaintance on the back, and they both departed without a word into the station. She glanced at me one more time and walked away, with the tricycle dangling in the father’s closed hand and a confused stare. She might have been asking herself what made her father notice her now that she was in his arms. Was it in the way she rode the tricycle? Was it in the way she wanted him to see her? Or was it because she ignored him and went to his uncle instead? I don’t know if she will ever find an answer.
I waved goodbye at her before she descended the escalator and into her life, placing the moment we shared into an unwritten memory book in perhaps both of our minds. I don’t know what will happen to her, or if I will ever see her hazel eyes again. All I know is that I wish her the best, and if she ever stumbles upon this article in the future, I hope she is doing well.
Children are the future of this world, and if we do not take care of them, and love them, and nurture them, all hope is lost forever. So, next time you see a kid, don’t look in disgust, look in wonder, for they are a blank canvas, and the artist is you and the world.
