Sunday evening, I was running the canyon path through the wooded picnic area of Bridal Veil Park. The park was alive with activity. A large group of adults congregated along the south side of the picnic area. Some of them had broken away from the main body, setting themselves apart into two groups and stretching the distance between them so they could successfully throw the football back and forth. Many retreated to less hectic areas of the park to mingle while some busily laid out a spread of treats and snacks.
The running path through the park was also busy with families, lovers, and runners treading up to and back from the waterfall. Families walked in small groups like a mini solar system--the parents at the core and the children walking around them like planets. A few kids however were like comets, darting out and away from the system, only to fly back into the system at a latter time, forcing everyone else to move or get caught in a collision. The runners, me included, darted back and forth on the path, running around and through these groups of walkers as if they were mere obstacles in a game. It's truly an act of perception--discerning peoples movements in relation to yours.
As I run, I focus on the path ahead of me, except when I get close enough to runners or walkers running the opposite direction. I usually look their way and greet them. Of course, sometimes when I am deep in thought or in a faster pace that doesn't allow me to break the rhythm of my breathing, I won't say anything. I'll just nod or smile.
As I was running through the park, taking a mental note of the activity going on about me, I suddenly passed a family going the opposite direction and noticed something disturbing.
I noticed a thin African American boy, probably twelve or thirteen years of age. His eyes were wide with interest in me. That's what caught my attention first, his eyes and face. His eyes looked down to his chest. My eyes followed suit. I noticed the movement of his left hand. It was playing with something wrapped around his right wrist, which he held up close to his chest. It was at this time that I noticed he was attached to a leash that was being held close by an overweight white woman. Her husband, who seemed overweight also, walked on the other side. And if I recall correctly, there were a few of their offspring (all younger than the African American boy) walking with them. None of them were wearing a leash. They didn't have a dog.
My first impression was to cry out "Why is he wearing a leash?" But by the time I was thinking this, I had passed them. I thought to myself that I should turn around and confront them. But I had to dodge another group of walkers. My instinct disappeared.
The image of his eyes and the leash he wore plagued me the remaining quarter of a mile to the falls. I decided I would go back and find them. Turning around, I picked up my pace and returned to where I saw them in the park. They were nowhere to be seen.
I ran through the parking lot, trying to see if I could see anyone who fit the description. I tried to check a car and a mini-van that were leaving, both with out of state licence plates--Idaho and California. Both had tinted windows so I couldn't see in the rear seats. And because I didn't get a good look at the faces of the woman and man, I was left with nothing except for a broken spirit.
I have studied and been taught principles that should have prepared me to be an advocate of what is right--to help those in need. At least that's what I have prided myself about. And yet, when the opportunity to help someone occurs before my very eyes, I freeze and let him slip away. I should have given voice to my initial impression and at least requested information from the parents.
As I ran the remaining three-and-a-half miles down the canyon, I considered questions about what I saw. What foster parent or parent of an adopted child allows a child to wear a leash? Why was the woman holding the leash so tightly to her side? Why were the other family members overweight but him?
More than this, though, the vision of those eyes looking at me haunted the path. I saw them in the faces of the walkers and runners I encountered down the path. I saw them in my wife's face as I walked into the house and explained what I had witnessed and failed to do.
I have convinced myself that he was revealing a secret to me. It's not good enough reasoning otherwise. We can't make a difference standing mute at the sight of what offends us.
