This time, instead of passing by, I sat at one of the picnic benches relieved our gender roles weren’t reversed; it’s likely far less acceptable for a 41 year old man to sit with the Pixies cranked into his earbuds watching girls ages 7 to 25 playing. Jumping. Gliding. Falling. Rolling.
These kids are cute. Stylish. Agile. Focused. . . . Yeah, Zen even.
Months ago, I had been disappointed to see that the northeast end of Stoner Park, where the oh-so-fun dog agility courses used to take place on Saturday mornings, was turned into a dug up construction site. Little did I know what the city officials had approved. God bless ’em, they did something right. California may be broken, but West LA has a brand new skate park.
You should see these boys-men. There’s barely any talking among them. Just motion. One beautiful face after another zooming past.
The first time my weekend exercise brought me by, seeing them gathered with such purpose – each one alone, quietly – bravely, really – following a passion, I felt palpable exhilaration. The sensation reminded me of my love for April’s LA Times Festival of Books.
Look, I wanted to shout, look everyone, the human race is good. So very good.