On my run this morning I passed the monkey bars.  A little girl finished swinging over the last rung and landed a few feet away from me kicking up a cloud of dust. “Oh,” she says grinning at her accomplishment and offers a “sorry.”

I smile, “No problem.”  As I continue to run past her she yells, “Can you tie my shoe?”  One thing I have learned about children is that to them adults are interchangeable.  Anyone of similar mother like age and hair color may be asked to take care of daily tasks for them.  I bend down realizing at close range that this girl is slightly older than two of my nieces and slightly younger than two of them.  I tied a double knot for good measure then watched her climb the short ladder on one of the monkey bars.

“Now you have to watch me,” she calls out, “this time I’m going to get it right.”

I find myself holding my breath as she swings out a right arm then a left, reaching for the metal rungs and curling her knuckles over them even though it is an unlikely reach given the length of her arms and space between the bars; I continue to watch until she’s safely across to the other side.  Suddenly I become aware that her Mother, Guardian, whomever is nowhere in sight.  Quickly I turn on my heel and sitting ten feet behind me she’s smiling and offers a wave.  She’s one of those naturally feminine beauties with raven red hair, long legs, and thin arms.  “Sorry,” she offers, “she’s friends to anyone with red hair.”

In unison we laugh.  Everyday should start with humoring a perfect stranger and seeing through the eyes of a child.  I still feel like crossing the monkey bars is a task I’m trying to perfect.  Problem is, they spaces between keep getting wider and wider.