They’re Just Trying To Play Their Game, Yo.

Ron held the door open as we walked out of Chipotle and he kept it open as a woman we didn’t know walked through to get inside. And then he did that hand-off thing with the door, that lets it fall to the next person walking through, so they can hold the door.

Like people do. Sorry, like nice people do.

The woman who walked through never said a word. Nothing. Just walked through.

Earlier this week we heard a couple fighting as they walked their babies in strollers, with the woman claiming she was clearly the “man in the relationship.” And while in Hawaii, where everyone should really, honestly be happy, we watched as a woman firmly let her husband know that “they’ll stop” if she walked into a crosswalk – with authority and an eye roll — on a busy street, with cars approaching.

And then there was this afternoon.

Kids bouncing on the trampoline in the backyard. Throwing a ball at each other in some game they made up. And watching it ping-pong off someone’s head and drift into the street on the other side of our yard’s wall.

“Be careful, you guys,” I reminded them, as a total stranger stopped her car and brought the ball back to them.

And a few minutes later, it happened again. The ball went right back over the wall, rolling in front of a black car. The driver instantly stopped, got out and walked the ball back to the kids, all of whom had lined up on the wall and watched her rescue effort.

“Say thank you so much, guys,” I told them.

“It’s okay. I have kids,” she said.

How ‘bout that? Two people making up for the folks we’d seen earlier in the week, people who had left momentary sour tastes I our mouths. They also make up for one of our neighbors, a new person on our block, who has zero tolerance for kids being kids.

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So much so, that he throws his hands up and asks “REALLY??” when he sees them playing kickball in our cul-de-sac. Yeah, really.  They’re playing kickball. Not building bombs, sharpening razor blades, cussing on a loud speaker, slashing tires, murdering anyone, or throwing shards of glass.

They’re playing kickball – near his car – with a squishy, two-dollar ball from Wal-Mart. It’s a ball that won’t break anything, except apparently his memory of being a child.

 

That’s why the woman who rescued the ball from the road was so clutch. Yeah, she saved the ball, but she also reminded us that all the good people didn’t go anywhere (Jack Johnson). They’re around.