Postscript
I watched a gathering of parents and children at my YMCA gym for their weekly 2-hour session teaching young 5-6 year olds how to handle and shoot a basketball. About 20 kids, all races, each with a parent, mom or dad standing behind them, other family members on the sidelines and YMCA instructor standing in front. (We never had anything like this when I was a kid. A great programs)
It was very noisy, but those kids were doing things I’d never seen before.
I was on the walking track above the floor and could watch as I got my two miles in.
I also noticed a few adults, maybe uncles, aunts, or grandparents, standing by the track rail overlooking the floor. There was also a looking glass window from the main building, looking down on the gym floor. It was there I noticed one portly younger black woman watching, her nose almost pressed up against the glass, and probably the same age as the parents below, late 20’s-early 30’s.
I passed her every 2 minutes, and couldn’t help but notice the sad look on her face. I must’ve passed her five times, and it began to weigh on me, for I couldn’t know what pain that happiness down on the basketball floor was causing her. Had she a child out there, only she no longer had custody? Had she lost a child who would’ve been of that same age? I can’t know.
But it was very sad.
Almost anyone of you would agree…if you’d noticed. You would have felt empathy for her, never knowing the nature of her pain.
We see those faces in all sorts of situations on Facebook and Twitter.
But what I also know is that if you saw such a thing and did not notice, or feel a tug of at your heart, then you are a goddamned self-involved bratling, who would make the perfect Democrat.
