The morning commute guarantees the usual suspects- crossing guard- a lovely convenience as the delivery truck drivers are fairly savage through their determination to meet deadlines- the gaggle of school children in bright and impressively mismatched clothing, dangling canvas bags. The defeated mothers with their ill-fitting sweats and over sized jackets. The occasional father- shifting from foot-to-foot-precariously-- another father proud, almost showing off, smiling at the young girls that walk by in their business attire. My personal favorite is the dad that slides away on his child's razor scooter.
Vadim and I pass the school, the arriving yellow bus , and glance up at a man gliding down the Slope, at a rather rapid rate:on a bicycle. No helmet, small child running along next to him, holding his hand. Amazing. The child had a blank stare, complacent, as she galloped, thud - thud- thud- forward. We began a chuckle- as we took jovial stabs at his parenting...I looked back and watched the child, the father, and stepped into 7th Ave station.
Yesterday, we saw a father, Vadim corrected me, "the same guy!" with the small child balanced on the metal in between the handle bars and his seat. No helmets. The father had one paw on the handle bars- and his arm slung around the child. Blank, forward stares worn on both of their faces, dirty blond hair feather in the breeze created through their motion. Somewhat concerned, but also accepting, as he's clearly seasoned in this method of travel- I glanced back and noticed a smaller child perched on a rack behind him. Her tiny hands grasping his jacket for support. Park Slope's Father of the Year, to be sure.
Is the Slope-parent vibe massaging its way into my mentality?
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