He was about 12- a stout, red-faced lad sporting his first signs of facial hair. He wore a black death metal T-shirt on top of baggy khakis. The earring on his left ear was of a skull. This kid, like every other "cool" kid swarming the streets, walked with a sway that spelled "I AM COOL BECAUSE I WATCH MTV" to everyone who saw him.
Yet I was not the least interested in how he dressed up or how his cool middle and ring fingers were perpetually bent into his cool palm in cool sign language for "Yo". Nor did I care how much cool gel he slathered onto his cool hair. Every other cool kid on the street looked exactly the same.
It was what he did, that cool lad, that set him apart. That unthinking swift motion of bending down and picking up the bunch of flowers an old lady in front of him accidentally dropped, and handing them to her with a bright smile that spelled "MY PARENTS TAUGHT ME WELL" to everyone who saw him.
That, I dare say, will grow up into a fine young man one day, and I am proud of him.
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