I hear them before I see them. The whoosh of skateboard wheels over asphalt announces the arrival of four boys in their early teens out for a late evening ride. They speak loudly, accusing each other, daring each other, dogging each other for made up social offenses. Their multi-colored hair and skinny jeans declare them as worldly and alternative, but their heavy country accents betray their roots as small town.
Sitting in my car, waiting as I often do, for my daughter to finish her karate class, I watch the boys with some amusement. The picture window of the dojo catches their attention and one after another they come to a stop to stare at the white-outfitted students.
“Oh! There’s a girl in there,” one boy shouts. And the others fall quiet and turn to see if he’s right. “There’s a girl in that class,” he repeats.
And I wonder at how small their world must be that a young lady practicing martial arts stuns them into near silence. They are in awe of her, these country boys, who will soon be young men.
Go write something!